


if you came this way

by tree



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amazeballs Sex, Chakotay is the patron saint of oral sex, Enthusiastic cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, I REGRET NOTHING, Id Fic, Less filthy than it started, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasms all over the damn place, Smut, sex and feelings, surprise angst!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree/pseuds/tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man who shows up at Kathryn's door is not at all what she expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. he knows how to use his hands and mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is completely, totally, and irredeemably id fic. I can't quite believe that this is the first thing I am posting in this fandom. Yet here we are! Take note of the tags, friends. Abandon all hope, ye who enter, etc.
> 
> The title of the whole thing is a piece of music by Max Richter from the album _Sleep_ , and the title of Chapter 1 is from the song _Bellyfish_ by Veda Hille. Apologies to both for associating them with my unholy brain child.

The man who shows up at Kathryn's door is not at all what she expects. Then again, she doesn't really know what she expects a male escort to look like. It's not the tattoo, although she's never met anyone with a facial tattoo before. Oddly enough, it doesn't look out of place on him. It seems simply part of his features, as though he'd been born with it. 

His broad shoulders, covered with a beautiful, very well-fitting suit jacket, fill the doorway of her apartment. He's as tall, dark, and handsome as the saying goes, but his hair is sprinkled with grey, and there are laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. Perhaps that's what is most unexpected. Somewhere in the back of her mind she must have imagined he would be younger. One of those stiff, unsmiling, Calvin Klein models with sculpted cheekbones and bored expressions.

"Kathryn?" he asks, and she realises that she's just been standing there, staring at him.

She shakes herself mentally and steps back to allow him inside. "Sorry, yes. Please come in."

"I'm Chakotay Dorvan," he says, holding out his hand. It feels strong and lightly calloused against hers, another surprise. He smells pleasantly of something she can't quite place.

"Kathryn Janeway," she says. "Would you like something to drink? I was just going to make some coffee." It's a lie but, now that he's here, she has an urgent need to have something to do.

"I'd prefer tea, if you don't mind."

"I don't know how that can be possible," she says as she walks into the kitchen, "but I think I have some ginger tea, if that's all right."

"Ginger tea is perfect." He follows her and she can feel his unfamiliar presence like an exclamation as she moves around her familiar space. "So you're a coffee lover," he says.

"Coffee is the finest organic suspension ever created. It probably makes up at least a quarter of my blood volume."

"That must be why you're so tense right now." 

She whirls around to find him watching her with a mild expression. "Excuse me?"

"Elevated caffeine levels can lead to—"

"Yes, I'm aware of the physiological effects of caffeine, thank you."

Chakotay studies her for a few moments, seemingly impervious to her hostility, then walks over to lean next to her at the counter. "Kathryn, it's obvious that my being here is making you uncomfortable. Would you like me to leave?"

High-pitched whistling fills the room and Kathryn sighs as she switches off the kettle, her anger dissipating with the steam. "No. I apologise. You're right. I'm a little on edge." If her hair wasn't already pinned up for the evening, she'd run her hands through it in frustration. "I hate going to these blasted things and on top of that I have no idea how this—" she gestures impatiently between them "—is supposed to work. My sister arranged... everything." And how she let Phoebe talk her into taking an _escort_ to the benefit dinner is still not something she fully comprehends.

He smiles, revealing two very appealing dimples. "In that case, why don't we sit down and talk a little? I find it helps if I know something about the event we're attending. And you can decide how you'd like to deal with any questions that arise about our relationship. How we know each other," he explains at her blank look. Just the sound of his voice is soothing and Kathryn feels herself relaxing almost against her will. "Then we do our best to enjoy each other's company for a few hours."

"That's all?"

"Were you expecting something else?"

"I suppose I thought..."

"That we'd have sex?" He sounds amused now.

She frowns, hating the flush she can feel rising in her cheeks. What is wrong with her? It's not as though she's some innocent schoolgirl to be blushing at the mere mention of sex. "That is the assumption with someone in your line of work, yes." The tone is what her assistant calls her 'command voice' yet Chakotay continues to look at her in the same calm way.

"It's certainly something we can discuss, if you like. The direction of the evening is completely up to you. Everything that happens tonight is your choice."

Though he's a large man, there's something very gentle about his manner that Kathryn feels herself responding to. His eyes are kind and his voice is soft. She'd like to hear more of it. Taking a deliberate breath, she offers him a smile. "All right. Shall we start again? Hello, I'm Kathryn." She holds out her hand.

Playing along, he takes it, this time lifting it to his lips. "Hello Kathryn, I'm Chakotay. It's a pleasure to meet you."

They grin foolishly at each other, enjoying the absurdity, her hand still clasped in his. The spot he kissed tingles slightly. Everything about him is warm: his hand, his eyes, his smile. It suffuses her and makes her feel completely at ease.

"So," he says, letting her hand slide from his, "were you really making coffee before I got here?"

"No," she admits. "Do you actually want tea?"

"Not really. But I'll happily drink it if it makes you more comfortable."

Kathryn laughs. "That's generous of you, but not necessary. I'd hate for anyone to have to drink tea on my account."

She leads him into the living room and they sit on her old, comfortable sofa. She slips off her heels and curls her legs under her before facing him expectantly. "So, what would you like to know?"

Chakotay's posture echoes hers, his body turned slightly towards her, his arm stretched out along the sofa back. "You mentioned we're attending a benefit tonight."

"The annual Voyager Foundation benefit. It's held at the observatory to raise funds for astronomy-related research and education."

"Since you said you hated these kinds of things, I have to assume that it's work-related."

"Unfortunately, now that I'm on the board. I liked it better when I was just a scientist."

"Just a scientist?" he asks with a slight grin. "What sort of 'just a scientist' were you?"

She swats him lightly on the arm. "My field is quantum physics. Most recently, I was working with one of the teams at the Large Hadron Collider. I don't know if you're aware, it's—"

"—the world's largest and most powerful particle collider," Chakotay finishes for her. "I saw a documentary about it. That's impressive."

Kathryn beams. "Well, not to most people. But I have to admit that it was very exciting to be part of."

"So how did you go from that to the board of Voyager Foundation?"

"It was a favour for an old friend of my father's. My father was heavily involved with the Foundation for several years before he died and when Owen asked me I just couldn't say no."

"You felt you owed it to your father's memory?" he asks, and something in his voice suggests to her he might know what that feels like.

"Yes. And it's not that I regret it," she assures him. "But I do miss the more hands-on aspects of my work. I don't feel like a scientist anymore. Instead of participating in experiments and reviewing data and writing papers, I'm looking at budgets and trying to explain to rich donors that what we do matters."

"The same rich donors we'll be entertaining tonight?"

"The very ones." She pauses, then leans closer, studying him the way she would a data set. "You're good at that."

Chakotay's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles and leans in to meet her. "At what?"

"Asking questions. Drawing people out."

"I'm interested. I've never met a quantum physicist before."

This close, Kathryn's gaze is drawn to his mouth. She can see the pattern of creases on his lips, as individual as fingerprints. There's something very nearly erotic about the way he shapes the words 'quantum physicist'. She wants him to say it again.

When she looks up, his dark eyes are watching her with an expression she can't read. An unexpected frisson of desire darts through her as she realises how simple it would be to tilt a little further forward and kiss him. As easy as falling.

Just as she feels the pull of gravity begin to take her, the alarm on her phone goes off.

Embarrassed, she jerks back, clearing her throat. "That's my fifteen minute reminder." She switches off the alarm and reaches down to find her shoes, talking to cover her awkwardness. "Sometimes I get immersed in what I'm doing and lose track of time, so I set an alarm to bring me back to earth, so to speak." Rising, she smooths her dress with more attention than it really needs to give herself a moment more to settle.

Chakotay stands as well, somehow appearing much taller and broader than he did before they sat down. "Have I mentioned how lovely you look tonight, Kathryn?"

Something about the way he says her name is different from the way anyone else has ever said it. There's a soft valley, a dip in the blanket of his voice at the merging of the syllables like an audible caress. It's disconcerting and she tries to wave the feeling — and the compliment — away. "You really don't have to say things like that."

"What if I want to?"

Kathryn can't decide if he's a very good actor or merely being kind. "Thank you," she says at last.

For some reason it makes Chakotay laugh. "You're not used to being complimented, are you?"

"I suppose not," she admits.

"We'll have to work on that, then."

"Oh? Do you plan to spend the evening giving me compliments?"

His smile is irresistible. "You'll have to wait and see."

 

*

 

Chakotay is a wild success with the benefit crowd. So much so that Kathryn almost feels superfluous. He's charming and witty and well-informed. And he knows exactly how to use those dimples of his. But no matter where he is or who he's talking to, his eyes track her across the room, and he always gravitates back to her side. Despite knowing that he's simply performing the role he's been paid to, his constant attention is gratifying. And for a few hours she allows herself to enjoy it.

The ease of the evening remains with her on the drive home. Despite her aching feet, Kathryn can't remember the last time she had so much fun. She wonders idly if she could talk Owen into keeping Chakotay on retainer. A sort of fundraising secret weapon. Next to her, the man himself is quiet, but she imagines he must be as tired as she is of conversation, and the silence is comfortable.

It's not until she pulls into the parking garage of her building that the nerves return. This is the part of the evening she's been both anticipating and dreading. 

"What happens now?" she asks as she turns off the engine. The sudden cessation of background noise is jarring.

"Whatever you want to happen," Chakotay says. "We can say good night and this can be the end of the evening. Or you can invite me upstairs and we'll go from there."

Her heart feels like a hummingbird in her chest as she looks at him in the sickly fluorescent light of the garage. "You don't need to get home?"

"There's nowhere I need to be, Kathryn."

Despite all of her misgivings, she doesn't want him to leave, doesn't want this to end yet. She refuses to give in to her fears. Swallowing with difficulty, she says, "Would you like to come up?"

His smile starts something warm and liquid pooling in her pelvis. "I'd love to."

She can feel Chakotay like an electric current on her skin as he follows her from the elevator into her apartment. The single lamp she left on throws their shadows against the wall, fusing them into a single creature. Kathryn sets down her bag and slips off her shoes, possessed once again by a need for activity. "Would you like tea? Or something else?"

"Tea, please."

When he starts to follow her into the kitchen she stops him with a hand on his arm. "I just need a minute."

"Of course." He smiles as though he's used to women he's about to have sex with requiring time to gather their thoughts. For all she knows, he is.

The mugs she'd set out earlier are still sitting on the counter. It feels like a lifetime ago. She moves from long habit, actions she could perform in the dark, while her mind whirls. Sex. She is going to have sex. Tonight. With a man she just met. A man her sister has paid for. It's not even a one night stand; it's a transaction. Her body doesn't seem to recognise that, though. It's poised somewhere between fight and flight, on high alert, humming like a live wire.

Sex.

How long has it been since she's wanted a man? She can't even remember. But something's been fizzing between them all night and even though she's more than a little terrified of going forward, she's desperately tired of standing still. She wants _this_ man and tonight she can have him.

Armed with this reassurance, she finds Chakotay on her sofa sans jacket and tie. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and the sleeves are rolled up, revealing his forearms. The white fabric contrasts sharply with the bronze of his skin. In the soft, golden light of her lamp, he looks utterly delicious.

She hands him his tea before sitting and watches him take a sip. His mouth has been thoroughly distracting her since he walked in the door and the situation only seems to be worsening. "I hope it's all right." She waves at his mug. "I don't have a lot of experience making tea."

"It's perfect. Thank you." He takes another sip, obviously waiting for her to initiate the next part of the evening.

But there's something she has to do first. In the back of her mind, she's been trying to decide how to tell him this all night. Now that the moment's here, the direct approach seems the best. Like ripping off a bandaid. She takes a deep, slow breath in and lets it out. "There's something I think you should know before we do this."

Chakotay runs his thumb along the rim of his mug. "It's not about your dog, is it?"

The incongruity of the question brings her up short. "I— what?"

"Sorry," he says, with a sheepish smile. "You'd tensed up again. I was hoping a terrible joke might ease the tension."

Strangely, she does feel more relaxed again. "I think it worked. But how do you know I have a dog?"

"If you were trying to keep it a secret, you haven't done a very good job. There's a water dish in your bathroom, a very hairy blanket folded up by the door, and I found this—" he holds up a mostly-chewed piece of rawhide "—between the cushions just now when I sat down."

Kathryn groans and takes it from him. "Molly enjoys playing hide and seek with her treats. I thought I'd found all of them earlier."

"Where is Molly tonight?"

"Visiting her Aunt Phoebe. My sister's girlfriend is allergic to dogs," she explains, "so whenever Ella is away for a few days, Phoebe likes to Molly-sit. And of course Molly loves it because Phoebe spoils her rotten."

Chakotay smiles. "I'm sure she's always very glad to come home to you, though."

"I hope so. I'm always very glad when she comes home. I miss her terribly when she's not here."

"It's hard being away from the ones you love, no matter what their species." He swallows another mouthful of tea. "So what is it you wanted to tell me?"

"I haven't had sex in five years." 

It just comes out, inelegant and stark. Kathryn is mildly horrified at herself, but Chakotay just watches her, waiting for her to continue. So she does, giving him the bones of an explanation. "I was engaged. There was an accident. My fiancé was killed." Even years later, it's still easier to manage in short, declarative sentences. "It was... a difficult time for me, a long process of recovery. Since then, I haven't really... I've been on a few dates here and there, but there hasn't been anyone else." She shrugs and looks down at her hands around the coffee mug. "I thought you should know, in case... I don't know. In case I forget how it all works."

Chakotay sets down his mug and takes one of her hands. "Thank you for telling me. It's not easy to let yourself be vulnerable with someone again after a loss like that. It takes a lot of courage."

She lets out a breath of laughter and meets his eyes. There's not a trace of pity in them. "To be honest, I thought it sounded a little pathetic when I said it out loud."

"Not at all." He shakes his head. "I think you're very brave."

For some reason his compassion is hard to bear, pressing too close to the old ache. Two parts sweetness and one part pain. It melds with all the other feelings he's inspired tonight, a bewildering mix, and all she can think to say is, "Thank you."

With a slow smile, he takes her untouched coffee and sets it on the low table next to his tea. Then somehow he's closer than he was a moment ago. "I also think," he continues, reaching out to play his fingers lightly against her cheek, "that you are a very beautiful, very desirable woman, Kathryn Janeway."

Her eyelids close of their own accord as he leans in. The kiss is so gentle she could almost be imagining it. Just his lips against hers, a fleeting suggestion of pressure. And still, it trips her heart into a faster rhythm. She has to lean into it, catch his lips with her own, to see if it happens again. This time his mouth parts slightly and she tastes the faintest hint of ginger from his tea. His fingers trail a lingering path along her neck and up into her hair, the sweep of his thumb against her earlobe making her shiver. Already her heart is racing and her ears are buzzing and she can't seem to catch her breath. Kathryn distantly thinks she should be embarrassed at her response to a few chaste kisses, but it feels so good, _he_ feels so good, that she doesn't care. 

And Chaktotay goes on kissing her. His hands map her back, her arms, raising gooseflesh everywhere they touch. She leans in further, balancing with one hand on his thigh. The hard muscle flexes under her fingers as he moves closer and a hot spark flares in her belly. His tongue slides along her bottom lip and she moans, opening her mouth to invite him in. When he darts away, she has to go after him, licking into the heat of his mouth and out again, making him chase her this time. Her hands slide up his arms, along his shoulders, and into his soft, thick hair. He's pressing her back against the sofa, his tongue stroking inside her mouth, his teeth nipping and teasing her lips. Kathryn tries to bring him closer but he resists, always holding his body a little too far away. It's maddening, the way he's barely touching her. She's afraid she might come just from this.

When he breaks away, resting his forehead against hers, she's pleased to note that he's breathing just as raggedly as she is.

He rubs his finger over her swollen bottom lip and her tongue darts out to lick it, making his breath catch. "Would you like to go to the bedroom now?"

There is nothing in the world she wants more. "Yes."

Chakotay stands and holds out his hand to her. She lets him help her up onto wobbly legs and keeps hold of his hand as she leads him to the bedroom. Everything seems slightly unreal in shadow, a fever dream. Behind her, he brushes a few wisps of hair off the back of her neck and kisses her there. A shiver sparkles through her. She tilts her head, arching her neck in invitation. He places a series of open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, the curve of her neck, the line of her throat. His low voice breaks through the buzzing in her head. "May I?"

She nods and his fingers go to the zipper at the back of her dress. It slides smoothly to the base of her spine. Chakotay runs the flat of his palm over her skin and the shock of it makes her gasp.

"Tell me how you like to be touched," he says, easing the dress off her shoulders and over her hips.

"I'm not sure I remember," she admits with a shaky laugh.

Somehow she can hear his smile. "That's all right. We'll find out together."

His mouth is on her skin again, his hands, but he's still behind her. Kathryn realises he's giving her privacy in a way, allowing her to rediscover this part of herself without having to face him watching. The idea is unbearably sweet. His kindness, his gentleness are undoing her as much as his touch, steaming her open like an envelope.

Chakotay unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the floor. Instead of touching her breasts as she expects, he kneels behind her and slides her underwear down. She steps out of them and he skims his hands up the backs of her thighs. Curling his thumbs over her hip bones, he rises slowly behind her, leaving kisses like a trail of breadcrumbs up her spine. She arches helplessly against him. The fabric of his shirt against her back is a shock, reminding her that he's still fully dressed. 

"You have beautiful skin, Kathryn," he murmurs as his hands begin a slow exploration of her torso. They slide over her abdomen and down to the creases of her thighs. His fingertips brush against her pubic hair and all the air rushes from her lungs in anticipation. But Chakotay glides his hands back up her body, over her stomach, until his palms lie flat against her ribs. His thumbs rest just underneath her breasts. "Show me," he whispers against her ear.

A sound like a hiccup comes out of her mouth as her entire body throbs. She manages to lace her shaking fingers with his and together they cup her breasts. The feeling is exquisite. His hands are larger than hers, their warmth soothing the ache of her nipples. He bends to lick her neck, her earlobe, as he touches her breasts, and the sensations blend until she begins to lose track of her body. He bites down gently as he traps one nipple between his fingers, squeezing in concert until the pleasure-pain is everywhere.

"Please," she moans. "I need, I need—"

"Yes," he says. 

He anchors her to him with one arm at her hips. The other hand glides down over her abdomen and begins to rub just above her pubic bone. Kathryn whimpers.

"Is this what you need?" His voice is low and rough. 

A high sound in her throat is all she can manage in answer.

He slips a thigh between hers so that he's taking most of her weight. Even so, when he dips his finger between her labia to touch her, it's all she can do to stay upright. She grips his arm helplessly, desperate for more. Another finger joins the first and then another, gliding through the wetness and slicking it higher, up to make circles around and around her clit.

She can hear Chakotay's breath and the vowel sounds coming out of her mouth that are all she has left. Her whole body is trembling, her hips working mindlessly against his hand and his fingers, god, his fingers that are making her feel like she's going to fly apart any second now with the force of the orgasm welling up inside her. It seems to gather itself from every part of her body, like the pull of the ocean as it forms a wave, dragging and churning, building and rising, higher and impossibly higher, until between one breath and the next it crashes over her, an overwhelming flood of sensation slamming through her and forcing a keening cry from her throat.

"Oh my god," she whispers when she comes back to her quivering, overloaded senses. "Oh my god."

Chakotay is still holding her up, his breath hot on the back of her neck. "You okay?" he asks.

"I think I died," Kathryn croaks, struggling to make her legs work.

He chuckles into her shoulder, a lovely, rich sound. His erection is wedged between them against her back and she feels a brief internal clench. Her orgasm was less pleasure than pure release and it seems her body already wants more. She wants his weight, his skin against hers. The thick, hot pierce of his cock. Just the thought sends another spasm through her. Squeezing his hand, she turns her head to look at him. "You seem to be wearing too many clothes for this party."

His grin is wicked. "Maybe I should do something about that."

"Maybe you should."

They disentangle themselves from each other and Kathryn turns, rising on her toes to reach his mouth. She kisses him hungrily now, no patience for gentleness or finesse. Chakotay responds by gripping her hips and pulling her to him, half lifting her further up his body. She breaks the kiss to work at the buttons of his shirt with eager, clumsy fingers, filled with an intense need to touch him. "Is this okay?" she asks belatedly, looking up to find him watching her with dark eyes gone even darker.

"Absolutely."

It is so incredibly sexy, the way he says it, that she has to kiss him again. She yanks the shirt out of his pants and finally, finally gets all the buttons undone. His mouth moves back to her neck and he finds that spot, that perfect, incredible spot that turns her to jelly just as she presses herself against his bare chest and the combination is so intense that she moans.

Somehow she gets his shirt off without breaking contact with his skin, although he has to let her go so she can do it. Taking advantage of his unoccupied hands, she pulls him to the bed and they fall onto it in a graceless tangle. They kiss messily, hands everywhere, until Kathryn lets out an honest-to-god giggle when he finds a ticklish spot. Chakotay grins, looking pleased with himself, and she can't even feign indignation because his dimples are so damn adorable. He knows it, too, she can tell. This is a man who's well aware of his own appeal and comfortable with it. And god he's so appealing she just wants to eat him.

He's up on one elbow looking down at her, still with that mischievous grin, and his other hand begins teasing her breast. The tips of two fingers circle her areola, spiralling in and then out again, sometimes encompassing her whole breast, approaching the nipple but never quite touching it. Both nipples tighten in anticipation of a touch that doesn't come. The wait lengthens excruciatingly and she moves restlessly against his hand, trying to make contact, but Chakotay stays just far enough from where she wants him to torture her.

"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" she grinds out.

And there's that grin again: now she wants to wipe it off his face, except he chooses that moment — the peak of her frustration — to bend his head and suck her breast into his mouth. Kathryn cries out, clutching his shoulders and pushing up against him, as his tongue swirls over her nipple, transmuting the ache into a deeper, sharper sensation that lances straight down to her clit.

"Better?" he asks as he switches to the other breast, and his voices sets off another spasm deep inside her.

"Unnh," is what comes out of her mouth.

He's got one leg settled between hers and she's shamelessly rubbing herself against him with single-minded purpose. She doesn't care how it happens, she just wants to come again. Chakotay lifts his head and moves up to kiss her, sliding his thigh higher in the same motion and making her moan. He nips at her chin and then eases back, stroking her legs. Kathryn closes her eyes in relief, _yes, finally_ , until she feels his hot breath on her inner thigh and realises precisely what he's about to do. 

"You, uh, you don't have to do that."

Chakotay looks up at her. "Are you saying that because you don't want me to or because you think I don't want to?" Her thighs have parted for him without her permission and his thumbs begin to slide along her slick labia. "Because I want to, Kathryn. I want to know what you taste like. I want to feel you come apart under my tongue."

 _Oh fuck_ is all she can think. Even in the dim light from the hallway, she can see he's looking at her like she's a steak dinner and he's starving. She wants it, badly, and right now she can't even remember why she objected in the first place. She gives him a jerky nod and his mouth comes down and she dissolves.

The first orgasm flares fast and hot, like kindling lighting up at the touch of a match, and he just keeps going. There's no air in the room; she can't breathe. She has too many nerve endings and he's found all of them. The second orgasm is deeper, stronger. Her vagina flutters and contracts around his fingers, which are almost but not quite enough. She wants him inside her, damn it. But he gives her no time to come down, to think, to remember how to control her muscles. Her body has made up her mind for her and it is smearing itself against his lips and tongue. He must be drowning, some part of her thinks, while he licks and licks and licks her into oblivion. It's so good she can't stand it, his big hands holding her down while she writhes, fighting against him to end her torment and willingly letting it happen.

It's possible she actually passes out for a second from the third orgasm. When she can see and hear and think again, Chakotay's head is resting on her belly and he's stroking the clenched fingers of her left hand where they're twisted in the sheet. He looks up and smiles when she squeezes his fingers. "Hi."

It takes her two tries to speak through the dryness in her throat. "Hi."

"Want some water?"

Kathryn nods, dazed and still trying to get enough air into her lungs. There's a stabbing pain at the back of her head. Chakotay passes into the light of the hallway and she shoves her fingers up into her hair to rub at her scalp, finding that the pins holding everything in place are attacking. She manages to sit up enough to start pulling them out, then switches on her bedside lamp as an afterthought. She's facing away from the door when she hears a noise and turns to find Chakotay staring at her as if transfixed.

"What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, looking almost embarrassed. "Nothing. It's just... your hair. I haven't seen it down before." He passes her a glass of water and sits down across from her. "May I?" His hand reaches out to where she's working at a few more pins.

His fascination with her hair is unexpectedly endearing. Kathryn turns to give him better access and sips her water slowly. He's much more gentle than she is, easing each pin free and then massaging the spot on her scalp where it sat. By the time he's finished, all the water is gone and she's almost boneless, she's so relaxed. She puts her glass on her bedside table and the pile of pins next to it. Then she turns back to Chakotay.

He has a sweet, almost dreamy smile on his face and she is flooded with tenderness. She gets up on her knees and takes his face in both hands, pressing a soft, undemanding kiss to his lips. "Thank you," she says, and his smile widens, becoming more focused. He smells like her, tastes like her, and Kathryn feels a sudden, primal satisfaction that she's marked him with her scent, however fleetingly. Now that the light's on, she can see him clearly for the first time since they entered the bedroom. 

He's gorgeous.

She runs her hands along his shoulders and down to his biceps. Chakotay's skin is smooth and warm, and the muscles under her fingers are solid and defined. She slips her arms further around him to feel the wings of his shoulder blades, the dips in his spine, and back again to the flat plain of his abdomen, the swells of his pectorals. All the while he is watching her look at him, his eyes never leaving her face. She lets her fingers trail deliberately over the hard little points of his nipples. His breath hitches and she can actually _see_ his eyes dilate. "Why do you still have your pants on?" she asks.

His soft laugh is slightly strained. "I told you, what happens tonight is your choice."

"What about your choice? What do _you_ want?" Her hands fall to the button on his trousers where the solid bulge of his erection radiates heat just beneath. "I don't want you to feel you have to do anything you don't want to." She cups him through the fine wool blend of his pants.

His groan is enough to make her hot all over again. He's panting slightly, his body coiled with tension, but he sits there and allows her to tease him, giving himself over to her. It's the single most erotic experience she's ever had. "I want you to fuck me," she whispers, and he closes his eyes as if she's caused him pain.

"I want to fuck you," Chakotay says, and just the words are almost enough to make her come.

Then she's attacking his button and zipper and he's pushing her back onto the bed and they're both trying to get his pants off and it would be comedic if it weren't so urgent, so necessary that Kathryn have him inside her _right now_. He kicks everything to the floor and then he's stretched out on her bed, completely naked, looking like some kind of sleek, wild creature from myth.

It's as if the four orgasms she's already had tonight never happened. She starts to climb on top of him, the clamour of her body overwhelming reason, but he holds her away from him and pants, "Condom."

She stares at him until the word makes sense to her addled brain and then feels a brief flare of panic. "I don't—"

"I do," he says, and twists to grab at something on the floor.

 _Of course,_ she thinks, _it's his job._

It's never occurred to her before that watching a man put on a condom could be sexy — in the past it's always just been either a necessity or a fun little tease if she helped — but watching Chakotay's hands rolling the latex down his stiff cock is almost like being a voyeur. Watching him touch himself paralyses her with lust.

He breaks the spell by rolling to face her. Kathryn presses herself against him, delighting at how good it feels to have all of his skin touching hers. He smoothes hair away from her face and kisses her softly. "Want to be on top?"

Just a few minutes ago she was ready to climb him like a mountain, but now she remembers: she wants the delicious feeling of his body pinning her to the mattress. She shakes her head. "No, you."

When he settles himself above her, she can't help but run her hands up his arms, taking atavistic delight in the taut bulk of muscle. The blunt head of his cock nudges the entrance of her vagina and she shudders and tries to pull him closer.

"You ready?" He's already breathless. Kathryn can't imagine how he's held on this long.

"Yes, yes," she urges, so he won't have any doubts that she's very, very ready. She grips him with her knees and he pushes in slowly and oh god how had she forgotten what this felt like? The pressure is enormous and the physics of it seem impossible and she's suddenly in awe that her body can do this, make a place within itself for him to fit.

It's so good in a way that's almost too intense. Chakotay feels huge inside her and she has to bite her lip and dig her fingers into his arms because everything is too much but she doesn't want it to stop. His concentration is so beautiful, his eyes fixed on her face, and his body pushing deeper and deeper. When his pelvis finally meets hers he grinds down a little and they both moan.

"Okay?" he asks hoarsely.

"Very." She licks her dry lips. "Keep going."

He huffs a laugh and does.

A long, slow slide out and then back in again, and then again, until the discomfort eases and leaves only a luxurious pleasure in its wake. Kathryn stretches her arms above her head and arches her back, feeling Chakotay's movements rush up her spine all the way to her fingertips. She rolls her hips against him on a return thrust and he shudders and makes a noise deep in his throat. So she does it again.

She's probably not going to come from this but she really doesn't care. Everything just feels so damn good. Chakotay's eyes have fixed on her breasts, watching as they sway with every thrust. She brings her arms down and starts teasing her nipples, watching his reaction. The way he grunts and his mouth falls open is hugely satisfying. She reaches up and pulls his head down to kiss him, licking and sucking on his tongue with the same rhythm as her hips work against his.

It's not long before he rears back, gulping in air. "Kathryn, I can't—"

She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around him. "It's okay, I want you to come. I want it."

He groans and drops his head into her neck. The muscles of his back bunch under her hands as he moves faster and harder. His whole body starts to shake and then he stiffens and lets out a long, drawn out moan, as his hips stutter a few times and finally come to a stop.

Kathryn runs her hands up and down his sweaty back, irrationally pleased with herself and him and the entire world. Chakotay slowly relaxes onto her, panting heavily, and his weight is delicious. She feels him start to soften and is mildly disappointed that it's all going to be over when he makes a slight movement and she clenches around his cock.

"Oh," she says involuntarily.

Chakotay shifts his weight to look down at her and it happens again. Watching her face intently, he lets his hand drift between her legs. "Yeah?"

She hums in response, unsure if this will work. It's never happened for her like this before. Kathryn doesn't want to waste his time, it must be an uncomfortable position for him to be in, but then he starts making firm, tight circles around her clit and suddenly she's moaning and clutching at him, trying to get closer or maybe further away.

It happens so fast she can't catch up. She hears the choked sobbing sounds she's making but can't stop. Can't stop moving, can't stop the terrible, awful pleasure swelling in her pelvis like a balloon inflating. When it bursts she knows she won't — can't possibly — survive it. Chakotay holds himself completely still above her but for the tiny motions of his fingers and underneath him she's a wild animal trying to claw its way out of a trap.

Her orgasm is wracking: hard and deep, an explosion surely strong enough to crack her bones. It seems to take a long time for her muscles to stop twitching, as though she's been struck by lightning. Chakotay lies down next to her and flattens his palm low on her abdomen; somehow it seems to help. His presence is warm and soothing, asking nothing of her, for which she's grateful.

Eventually she musters the energy necessary to turn her head and look at him. "I didn't break your fingers or anything, did I?"

He laughs. "No." If there's the tiniest hint of smugness on his face, she really can't begrudge him.

"Good." She pats his hand a little clumsily. Her motor functions aren't quite back to normal yet.

With a kiss to her temple, Chakotay sits up. "I'm just going to use your bathroom."

"Okay," she agrees, limp as a jellyfish on a beach. As he bends over to retrieve his pants and shirt, she eyes his ass appreciatively. He really is gorgeous.

After a minute or two, Kathryn manages to sit up and swing her legs over the edge of the bed. There's a few seconds of dizziness, but then everything rights itself. She gets up and finds her robe, slipping it on, and the water glass on the bedside table reminds her how thirsty she is. In the kitchen she finds another empty glass on the counter, which must be Chakotay's. She refills them both and stands drinking hers while absently finger-combing her hair and thinking about absolutely nothing.

Muted sounds come from the living room where she assumes Chakotay is gathering his things. When he walks into the kitchen he's dressed again, somehow more attractive for being a little mussed.

"Water?" she asks, gesturing to the full glass.

He smiles. "Thanks." 

Watching the motions of his throat as he swallows is fascinating. There isn't a single nerve left in her body that's capable of arousal but still Kathryn wants to press her fingers there and feel the way his muscles contract. She wishes she'd had more of a chance to touch him.

When he sets the glass down she knows the evening has come to an end. Given everything they've just done together, it's strangely awkward walking with him to the door. She considers and discards different things to say to him, wishing she knew the etiquette for this particular situation.

She opens the door and he turns to face her. Suddenly it occurs to her that she has no idea how he's getting home. "Do you need me to call you a cab or anything?"

Chakotay smiles and shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. But thank you."

"Well," she says and clears her throat. His expression, when she looks up, seems almost affectionate. What on earth can she say to him?

"Thank you for tonight, Kathryn," he says, surprisingly her utterly.

Heat floods her face. "I think that's supposed to be my line."

Chakotay's smile widens, giving her a last glimpse of his dimples, and he leans in to kiss her cheek. "It was my pleasure." His hand trails along her shoulder and down her arm before he steps out into the hall. "Good night."

"Good night."

Kathryn shuts the door and leans against it, mind empty. Tomorrow she will think this through, pick it apart, determine whether or not she has any regrets. For now, though, she stumbles back to bed and is asleep before she even remembers to turn off the light.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The single redeeming feature of this fic is that the LHC documentary Chakotay mentions is a real thing called _Particle Fever_ and you should definitely see it because it's great.
> 
> There's a second part to this thing (apparently my id is long-winded, who'd've thought?) but it won't be happening any time soon because Yuletide. Wish me luck.


	2. i am one hot summer (i)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no objectivity maybe this is terrible i don't know but the id will not be gainsaid. (also it is really fond of em dashes apparently.) this section was supposed to be all one part but it's over 10K and it's not done yet so here we are.
> 
> also. to anyone who read the first part and didn't tell me about any of the GLARING errors in it that i found on read-through number 38: you are all fired! tell a girl when she's got her dress tucked into the back of her tights, people! it's the only decent thing to do.

Her sister is nothing short of triumphant.

"I am _the best_ sister _on the planet_ ," Phoebe crows over the phone.

Kathryn sinks further into her sofa with a yawn, phone in one hand and mug of coffee in the other. "It's a little disturbing how invested you are in my sex life."

"If you actually _had_ a sex life, it would be. So are you going to see him again?"

"It wasn't a date, Phoebe."

"Fine. Are you going to rent him again?"

Kathryn chokes at her sister's choice of verb. "No, of course not."

"What do you mean 'of course not'? You said you had fun. You said the sex was incredible. You had _five_ orgasms." 

"It was a one time thing, Fee. And it would never have happened if you hadn't set it up. Now that it has, I'm not sorry, but I think it should remain what it was: a very unique birthday present."

Her sister makes a disparaging noise. "Well, at least I got you got laid for your 40th. I guess that's something. Even if it _never happens again_."

"Thanks," Kathryn says wryly. "It's so nice to know you care."

 

Despite Phoebe's professed disappointment, Kathryn remains confident in her decision. And if thoughts of Chakotay pop into her mind from time to time over the following days, she tells herself it's only to be expected. After being alone and celibate for so long, it's understandable that the first man she's with is going to make an impression. What's more difficult to reconcile is how often those thoughts have nothing to do with sex. They're about his easy grace and how comfortable she'd felt in his presence; his sly, mischievous sense of humour; the sheer enjoyment he seemed to take in everything around him. She thinks of the breadth and gentleness of his hands; the slight upward curl of his lips when she was speaking; the vibrancy of his laughter. So many things come back to her that she hadn't realised she was cataloguing at the time.

Even interests Chakotay mentioned in conversation have fixed themselves in her mind. She sees an article about a recent archaeological find and recalls his passion for ancient cultures. Driving home one evening, her eye catches an advertisement for a wilderness tour and remembers that he loves hiking. A pervasive sense of expectation has taken root inside her. Despite only a single evening spent in his company, it's as if some part of her looks for him around every corner. 

For the most part at work she can put him out of her mind. Kathryn has a talent for compartmentalising what's extraneous to the task at hand. But at home it's a different matter. True focus eludes her and she can't seem to settle. Molly senses something isn't quite right, following Kathryn from room to room as she hasn't since she was a puppy. And while the dog is an excellent listener, she can't provide much in the way of advice.

Weeks pass and Kathryn feels a certain reluctance to broach the subject with Phoebe again after closing it with such finality. Besides, what would she say? ' _I've developed an adolescent preoccupation with someone I met once_ '? ' _I've got a crush on a man with clever hands and the most beautiful smile_ '? Just articulating the possibilities to herself makes her feel ridiculous. And she's definitely not comfortable talking to her mother about it, close as they are.

It saddens Kathryn to think about how isolated she's become, how many relationships she's let slip away in the last five years. She'd had a little community at the LHC that allowed her the illusion of a wide circle of friends. Returning home has made her realise that, when it comes to relationships with depth, her family is all she has. She's always been a private, driven person, becoming even more so after the deaths of Justin and her father, but she finally recognises something that both her mother and her sister have been trying to tell her all along. By insulating herself from being hurt again she's cut herself off from the possibility of joy.

And lately joy seems very appealing.

  

*

  

It's a Tuesday night and she and Molly are ensconced on the sofa. Kathryn has a glass of wine on her left, her laptop open on her knees, and every intention of going over the Foundation's latest financial report. Except once again she finds her thoughts diverting to Chakotay. The mystery of his calloused hands had been solved when she'd overhead him talking to Owen about carpentry at the benefit. The name of his business has been hovering in the back of her mind ever since she saw an ad for a home improvement show. Kathryn stares at the search bar of her browser and bites her lip. She looks over at Molly, who glances up from licking her paws and raises her eyebrows. Kathryn looks back at the search bar. "Oh, what the hell."

Like the man himself, Dorvan Designs is a surprise. The site has a simple, clean layout that makes use of geometric shapes and complementary colours. Her mouse hovers over the 'About' link for a moment before she makes herself click on 'Store' instead. She's interested in his work, she tells herself sternly, not indulging her puerile fixation. 

The photographs are stunning and feature everything from delicate jewellery to elaborate headboards. Each one captures the finish and texture of the wood so closely that Kathryn feels as if she could reach through the screen and touch it. As well as items currently for sale, there are photos of past sales and commissions, all including a short description of the inspiration behind them and the type of wood used. She sips her wine and clicks through page after page of beautiful pieces until her attention is caught in complete astonishment.

It's an old-fashioned orrery.

Chakotay has made little attempt to recreate the exact appearance of each planet beyond its relative size. Rather, each is made from a different wood or has been stained to achieve a unique colouration. Jupiter is especially extraordinary: made of something with natural striations in yellows, greens, and reds. There are close-ups of the individual planets and even a video of the whole tiny solar system in motion. Kathryn is awed by the attention to detail and the fluidity of the orbits. Her heart has actually quickened in excitement. _Want_ is not a strong enough word for what she feels. She _covets_ this wonderful thing.

The price gives her pause, but only for a moment. It's completely handmade, after all, she rationalises. And even if she needed to justify the expense, what else does she spend her money on? She works and she comes home and, aside from her mother and sister, there is nothing else significant in her life except Molly.

Kathryn clicks the 'add to cart' button with a glee she hasn't felt in a long time.

  

*

  

The orrery arrives the following Monday and Kathryn has to quell the impulse to clap in excitement as the courier sets the box down in her office. It's already assembled so all she has to do is lift it from its packaging and place it reverently on the table by the window. Switching on the cunning mechanism that drives the rotation, she presses her fingers against her mouth and has a sudden and confusing urge to cry. It's breathtaking. The sunlight gilds the paler woods and makes the darker ones richer and deeper.

Her assistant whistles as he walks in and sees it. "That's gorgeous."

"Isn't it?" Kathryn sighs, feeling as if she's been awakened from a spell. She glances back with a smile she can't contain. "I've never seen one like it, Tom."

"Not something you see much of at all these days. Hey, there's more here." He scoops something up from the clutter of packing materials. It's a small, flat box with the Dorvan Designs logo on the lid.

Kathryn walks over and examines it curiously. "I didn't order anything else."

"Maybe it's a gift with purchase."

"It's not the perfume counter at Macy's," she says dryly.

Tom shrugs and grins. "Want me to take this stuff out to be recycled?"

"Thanks."

Once he leaves, Kathryn sits down at her desk and opens the box. On top is an envelope with her name in bold, slanted letters. Inside is a note written in the same hand.

> Dear Kathryn,
> 
> You can't imagine how thrilled I was to learn it's you who bought my orrery. There are pieces I make that I get unreasonably attached to, and this is one of them. It's been with me for several years and I'd begun debating whether to take it out of stock and keep it for myself. I've always hoped it would go to a good home: somewhere it would be appreciated for its science as well as its art. Now I have the satisfaction of knowing it has the best home possible.
> 
> Best wishes,  
>  Chakotay
> 
> P.S. Enclosed is a small token of appreciation. I came across some reclaimed Brazilian rosewood last week and its colour made me think of you.  
> 

She's smiling when she opens the soft felt pouch sitting under the note. Inside is a slip of paper with what looks like care instructions and something else that she tips into her palm. It's a thin chain with some sort of abstract pendant attached to it, made from a glossy, chocolate-coloured wood. It takes her perhaps a minute of study to recognise the chemical formation from long-ago chemistry classes. Then she bursts out laughing. Chakotay has made her a caffeine molecule.

  

> Dear Chakotay,
> 
> Your orrery is one of the most beautiful pieces of art I have ever seen. I knew the moment I laid eyes on it that we were destined for each other. It has also garnered a great deal of interest at work since it arrived. (At least, it's what I attribute my newfound popularity to. None of these people have ever visited my office so enthusiastically before.) Thank you for the information sheet regarding the wood types; it was a fascinating read.
> 
> Thank you, as well, for the caffeine molecule. I don't think I've laughed so hard in years as I did when I realised what it was. I wear it proudly.
> 
> Best wishes,  
>  Kathryn

  

Although she's never really worn much jewellery, Kathryn finds herself putting on Chakotay's necklace more and more often. Beyond the amusement of the joke behind it, the wood feels pleasant against her skin, and she finds her fingers gravitating towards it without thought. Twice she forgets to take it off before she goes to sleep and wakes with its impression on her skin. Both times she's reminded of Chakotay's tattoo, though it's not as if she needs more reminders of him. Between his orrery at her office and his necklace at her throat, he is a persistent presence throughout her days.

Ever curious, she reads articles about woodworking and watches videos online demonstrating various processes. It's all too easy to mingle memory with imagination and envision Chakotay's hands performing the intricate detail work, a look of deep concentration on his face and his dark eyes focussed, or the muscles in his arms and back as he saws larger pieces of wood to size, his skin slick with the sweat of effort. With these images in her head Kathryn finds herself in a mild but distracting, near-constant state of arousal.

After years of not even the remotest interest in sexual contact, her body seems to have remembered its animal needs and is demanding they be fulfilled. Sex, yes. Sex, now. Frustratingly, it's very particular about who it wants that sex with. Kathryn meets a lot of men in her line of work, many of whom are attractive, available, and of compatible sexuality. But when she considers sex with any of them, she feels about the same amount of enthusiasm as she does when considering cleaning out her wardrobe. She _could_ do it, but it just doesn't really seem worth the effort.

But sex with Chakotay? _Oh, yes._

Finally, on a Friday, she gives in. It's been a week of warm, sunny days and cool, clear nights that remind her of summers at home in Indiana. It's been a week of being unable to ignore the restless, gnawing feeling that's grown steadily inside her until it's become almost a physical sensation. She's tried extending her morning runs, much to Molly's displeasure, but that hasn't really seemed to help. Neither have the extra games of tennis.

Kathryn sits at her desk and stares at the black screen of her phone. Somewhere on it is the text message that Phoebe sent her weeks ago with the number of the escort agency where Chakotay works. She always intended to delete it and yet she hasn't. She never intended to see Chakotay again and yet...

Her mouth is dry as she searches through her messages. When she finds it, her stomach seems to drop completely away. She glances up to check her door is shut and then back down at the number on the screen. She takes a sip of coffee and grimaces at finding it's gone cold. Her phone goes dark and she swipes to switch it back on. The number is still there.

"Just do it," she mutters to herself, annoyed because she's dithering and Kathryn Janeway does not dither. She presses the call button and listens to the simulated ringing. A woman's voice invites her to choose from a selection of automated menu options. Kathryn is pleased to note that her hand is steady when she presses the number for bookings. 

"Welcome to Marquis Escorts, this is Samantha, how can I help you?"

"I'd like to—" she blanks on the proper wording—place an order? rent a man?—before the menu option rescues her "—make a booking."

"Of course. Have you booked with us before?"

"Yes, I have."

"And your name?"

"Kathryn Janeway."

There's a brief pause and then Samantha says, "All right, Kathryn. Your last booking was with Chakotay. Would you like to book him again?"

"Yes."

"And when would you like to see him?"

"Tonight?" It comes out as a question when Kathryn suddenly realises how unlikely it is that he'll be available on a Friday night at such short notice.

"I'll just check — I'm sorry, Chakotay is already booked this evening. Would you like to schedule him for another day or choose another escort?"

Kathryn has a moment of unreasoning panic. "No, thank you, maybe some other time," she says in a rush and disconnects. She has to stand up and walk across her office to release some of the nervous energy she feels. Disappointment is a sour taste in the back of her throat. Disappointment and maybe a hint of relief. 

"Enough," she tells herself. If she's been waiting for a sign from the universe that she needs to get over this — whatever it is — she's just received it. That's the end of it. No more. With a nod of resolve, Kathryn walks back to her desk. 

When her phone rings an hour later she's engrossed in a grant proposal and answers by rote. "Kathryn Janeway."

"Hi Kathryn, this is Samantha from Marquis Escorts. Is it convenient for you to talk now?"

A rush of adrenaline hits her blood. "Yes, now is fine."

"I'm calling because we've had a cancellation and Chakotay is now available for this evening. Would you like to go ahead with your booking?"

"Oh, I—" Kathryn feels a brief moment of ire at the universe for sending her mixed messages like this. But, "Yes, I would."

"Great. What time would you like him to meet you?"

"Six?" She has no idea what time his work evening begins.

"Six is fine. Do you have any specific requests for what he wears tonight?"

 _Nothing_ , her brain helpfully supplies. Heat crawls from her chest into her cheeks. "Casual is fine."

"And will he be meeting you at the same address as your last booking?"

"Yes."

"All right, I just need to take your credit card details."

Kathryn recites the numbers from memory, trying to tamp down the rampant butterflies in her stomach.

"Okay, Kathryn, Chakotay will see you at six. Enjoy your evening."

"Thank you."

She puts the phone down and stares at it. Remembers to swallow. Her skin is hot and tingling already, her pulse racing. She glances at the clock. It's an eternity until six. Then she remembers she needs to change her sheets. And tidy her apartment. And take Molly for a walk. 

Kathryn spends several minutes mentally berating herself for not thinking this plan through. Then she spends several more minutes making a list of what she needs to do before six. Twenty minutes after ending her call she walks out to Tom's desk and tells him she's leaving early.

"You?" he asks blankly.

"Yes."

"Are leaving early?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

Kathryn rolls her eyes and walks back to her office. 

"Who are you and what have you done with Kathryn Janeway?" he yells at her back.

  

*

  

By five-thirty she's tidied her apartment and changed her sheets, taken Molly on a short run, showered, and opened the box of condoms she bought at the pharmacy. Now Kathryn stands in front of her wardrobe and tries to decide what to wear. Last time it was easy: it was a formal occasion and she wore a formal dress. Casual is turning out to be much more difficult. The windows are open to catch the evening breeze, which seems to be coming off the ocean tonight, so she looks for something with a little warmth in it. She pulls out a camel-coloured cardigan with a low v-neck. It's soft and comfortable, and the neckline makes her feel subtly sexy. To go with it, she selects a pair of loose cotton trousers in black.

In front of the mirror, she starts to pull her hair back out of habit. Then she recalls Chakotay's expression when she'd taken her hair down that first night, how entranced he'd seemed. It had struck her as such a sweet, almost innocent appreciation, and he'd been so gratified when she let him touch it. The memory makes Kathryn smile and then laugh at her reflection. She feels light, lighter than she has in a long time, as she walks out of the bathroom with her hair hanging loose down her back.

Molly watches all of the activity with interest, unused to this break in their usual Friday night routine. At ten to six, Kathryn wanders into the kitchen, unable to relax, wondering idly whether another cup of coffee would be a bad idea. She feels absurdly like she's sixteen again, going on her first date. Excited and nervous in equal measure. She almost jumps out of her skin at the knock on the door.

He's early.

Molly trots into the hall and looks ahead, then back at Kathryn as if to say, _Well?_

"Sit," Kathryn says, running a hand across Molly's head as she passes. She takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Chakotay looks even better than she remembers. "Hi," he says with a smile she's helpless to resist.

"Hi." She steps back to let him in and notices the damp spots on his shirt and glints of water reflecting in his hair. "It's raining?"

"Only just." He looks down at her bare feet. "I didn't realise shoes were optional tonight."

"We like to keep things casual here."

"I see that," he says, with a long look that travels from her toes to the top of her head. "I like casual."

Kathryn feels her entire body ignite in a low flame, but she gives as good as she gets, surveying his well-worn jeans and cream-coloured button down in a slow, thorough perusal. When she meets his eyes, she doesn't think she's imagining the slight dilation of his pupils. "Me too," she says.

The heavy air between them is broken by an eager whine behind her, and Kathryn offers a silent thanks to Molly. It wouldn't do to jump him before they've even made it out of the hallway.

Chakotay kneels down in front of the quivering mass of excited fur. "You must be Molly," he says and holds out his hand. Molly looks up at Kathryn pleadingly and Kathryn laughs and makes the 'release' gesture. Chakotay holds still as Molly investigates him, sniffing his hands and face eagerly. "She's not used to strangers?" he asks.

Kathryn shakes her head. "Not at home, no. She meets a lot of people on walks and at the park, but here it's really only my mom and my sister."

"Well, then, I'm honoured to be part of such a select group."

Apparently satisfied with the results of her investigation, Molly butts her head against Chakotay's hand in a clear, peremptory demand to be petted. He beams. "I think she approves of me."

Kathryn has to swallow past the odd lump in her throat, watching his obvious delight. "She's a good judge of character."

He looks up with a smile as Molly attempts to climb onto his lap. "She's beautiful. You take very good care of her."

"We take care of each other."

With a last stroke of Molly's ears, Chakotay stands up, once again seeming to fill the room with his presence. "Now that I've been given the seal of approval, I should probably wash my hands."

Kathryn laughs and leads him into the kitchen, pointing him at the sink. The recollection of the first time he was here feels so unrelated to the present moment it's as if those events happened to someone else. Chakotay lathers his hands and scrubs in an efficient, practiced way. She supposes he must be used to washing thoroughly when working with wood. Still, basic hygiene has never been so enthralling to her before. Under the flow of water, the bronze tone of his skin deepens and, unbidden, she has a vivid mental image of his entire body dripping with that water. Her nipples harden in some kind of Pavlovian response. 

To distract herself, Kathryn offers him a towel to dry his hands and crosses her arms over her chest. Then she wonders if that just makes things more obvious. "Would you like something to drink?" she asks a little desperately, unprepared for the strength of her physical reaction to him now that he's right in front of her. He was sweet to her dog and he washed his hands and for some reason that has translated into an immediate and fervent desire to rub every part of her body against every part of his. It would be wrong to just start licking him, she tells herself. Wouldn't it?

Chakotay lays the towel by the sink and steps a little closer. "Not right now, thank you."

She nods and tries to look at something other than his mouth, the golden skin at his throat. 

"You're wearing it," he says, and reaches out to touch the pendant he made.

"It's probably the piece of jewellery I wear most often these days," she admits, trying to focus on anything beyond the tickling warmth of his fingers on her skin.

"I'm glad you like it." Even when he lets go of the necklace, his touch lingers, brushing lightly against her collarbone.

"I do," she says, with the sense that they're having more than one conversation here but too aroused to make any sense of the complexity. "Didn't you get my note?"

He takes another step closer and splays his hand against her neck. His fingers spread out along her shoulder, the smallest sliding just under the edge of her cardigan. "I did." His thumb sweeps across her throat to lie above her pounding pulse. "But you might've just been being polite. I wasn't sure if you really liked it."

He's right there, looking at her with those eyes, and she can't stand it anymore. Kathryn launches herself at him, mouth crashing into his without gentleness or finesse. From the way he grabs her and yanks her against him, Chakotay doesn't mind.

He smells and tastes and feels even better than she remembers. Kathryn rises on her toes to stretch against him, luxuriating in his solidity, the wet heat of his mouth driving a grinding ache into her pelvis. He pushes her back until she hits the counter and lifts her onto it. At this height she can wrap her legs around him and pull him in tightly at the perfect angle. He makes a noise of approval in his throat and his hands slip under her cardigan to caress her back.

Without much leverage she has to settle for rocking her hips into him. Chakotay gets the hint and pushes against her in turn, creating a delicious friction. Kathryn lets her head fall back and supports herself on her arms, already gasping. "I didn't mean to just attack you like that," she tells the ceiling.

Chakotay laughs against her neck. "Please, attack me any time." His hands go to the buttons of her cardigan and slip them free of their holes one by one. "I surrender."

The ridge of his erection rubs against her insistently and nothing could feel less like surrender. He unhooks the front of her bra and pushes aside the cups to slide his palms over her breasts. Kathryn arches into his hands, into his rocking hips, wanting him everywhere at once. He squeezes her breasts gently and rubs her nipples with his thumbs. It's almost lazy the way they're moving together, almost. His fingers feather over her breasts and down her ribs, meandering until they meet the fabric of her trousers. He tugs at the drawstring there and the loose waist falls to her thighs. Chakotay groans when he slides his hands around to her backside and discovers she's wearing nothing else underneath. Then he's pulling her up to him, his mouth coming down hard on hers. She wriggles closer and her breasts press against his shirt. She drags her mouth away from his to mutter, "Why do you still have all these clothes on?"

As she works at his buttons, she indulges her earlier desire to lick as much of him as she can get at. Chakotay utters a half laugh, half moan as she laps at him like her personal salt lick. They writhe against each other in an uncoordinated way until Kathryn yanks his shirt completely off. She runs her hands over him greedily, leaning back to kiss him again. "Condom," she mumbles against his mouth.

"Back pocket."

There's more than one so in her search she has to grope his ass a little. _It's a tough job but someone's got to do it_ , she thinks, laughing giddily.

Chakotay draws back to look at her, bemused. "What?"

"Nothing, I'm just—" _happy_ , her brain supplies "—having fun," she finishes, momentarily disconcerted.

He smiles that beautiful, generous smile and her heart does a little tumble. "Good."

Kathryn shoves her intrusive thoughts away and concentrates on the task at hand. Literally. She holds up the condom. "Now take your pants off."

She watches avidly as he rolls on the condom while she wiggles from side to side to get her trousers all the way off. Since their last encounter she'd half-convinced herself that her reaction to it the first time had been due merely to the newness of the situation. But, no, she discovers. It's still incredibly arousing. She wonders if she can work up the courage to ask him to masturbate for her. Just the thought makes her squirm. It's not something she's ever been interested in before. When did she become such a pervert?

Then she forgets how to think completely as he spreads her legs wider and steps between them, his cock hot and insistent. She grabs his ass and pulls him in, squeezing her eyes shut at the incredible feel of every inch. It seems impossible but she's so close already, has been for hours, god, weeks now. "You feel so good," she whispers.

He presses his brow against hers and slides out slowly. "So do you."

"Faster," she tells him when he pushes back in with that same leisurely movement. She's too worked up for slow.

"Yes ma'am," he says, thrusting again.

"Don't call me ma'am," she tells him, the strength of the order slightly undermined by the way she trails off into a breathless moan and clutches at his shoulders. She can't do much more than hang on while he fucks her hard and fast and it's perfect, so perfect that she wants it to last but she's been thinking about this for so long and there's just no way.

"Yes, sir," he says, and she comes as she laughs, an explosion in her pelvis stealing her breath while her whole body shakes. Chakotay groans as he feels it, fingers digging into her ass. He thrusts three, four more times and then drops his head on her shoulder, shuddering.

Heavy breathing is the only sound in her apartment for several moments and then they both start laughing simultaneously. Chakotay raises his head and they kiss sloppily around the laughter, he trying to stay upright and she trying to help him. Kathryn has no idea why it's so funny and suspects he doesn't either but the laughing feels almost as good as the sex.

"Well, the least I can do now is feed you," she says once they've calmed down. "What do you feel like?"

"What are my choices?"

"Anything that delivers."

"You're not going to cook for me?" His attempt at disappointment is ruined by the twinkle in his eyes.

"Trust me, Chakotay, you do not want to eat my cooking."

He studies her for a second. "How about you eat mine?"

"You cook, too?"

"Well, it's a way not to starve."

"So's takeout."

Chakotay shakes his head. "No wonder you live on coffee."

They clean themselves up and then Chakotay goes hunting through her refrigerator. Kathryn and Molly watch from the doorway with interest. The kitchen hasn't seen this much activity since the last time Kathryn's mother visited and Chakotay seems entirely in his element.

"Olive oil?" he asks after amassing a small pile of ingredients on the counter. He glances at Kathryn and waves his hand. "Never mind. I'll look."

"Is there anything I can do?" she asks. It feels wrong for him to do all the work, even though it's a pleasure simply to watch him.

"Can I trust you with a knife?"

"I am perfectly capable of chopping things," she says indignantly.

He smirks slightly and holds out the tub of marinated chunks of feta that Phoebe brought over the last time she visited. "Start with these."

"What are you making?"

"Well, since the only edible things in your fridge were eggs, sun-dried tomatoes and that," he points to the feta, "I thought an omelette with sun-dried tomatoes and feta."

"Sounds good."

They work in an easy silence for a while. Kathryn finishes with the feta and tries to sneak a piece of sun-dried tomato but Chakotay swats her hand away.

"This is _my_ kitchen, you know," she grumbles, stalking to the fridge to open the bottle of Chardonnay she bought earlier. Secretly she's delighted by how playful he is, how comfortable they are together, how right it feels for him to be in her kitchen making dinner. 

The omelette, when it's done, is delicious. They sit on the sofa with their plates and glasses of wine while Molly looks on mournfully despite already having had her own dinner.

"I can't believe anything that tastes this good came out of my kitchen," Kathryn says, then feels vaguely guilty. "Actually, that's not true. My mom's an amazing cook and she always spoils me whenever she visits."

"So the cooking gene skipped a generation?"

She makes a negative sound as she takes a mouthful of wine. "No, Phoebe's a good cook, too. It's just me with this terrible affliction."

Chakotay laughs softly at her unrepentant grin.

When she's scraped up the last morsel of melted feta, Kathryn leans back with a contented sigh. She hasn't gone so far as to lick the plate, but it's a close call. "Thank you for feeding me. And for doing it so well with such pitiful resources."

"I enjoy cooking. Especially for—" he seems to hesitate for a moment "—people as culinarily challenged as you."

Despite a strong desire to know what he'd been about to say, she doesn't press. "Well my tastebuds and I are grateful for your efforts."

Chakotay accepts the compliment with a nod. "I'm glad."

In the quiet that follows, Kathryn can hear the soft sounds of rain hitting her window ledges. Molly's head comes up from the floor in response to something only she can hear, then sinks back again as whatever it was fades away.

Kathryn looks down into her glass and then up at Chakotay to find him watching her. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course."

"What made you decide to become an escort?" His eyes shift away from hers briefly and Kathryn immediately regrets asking. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that."

He shakes his head. "I don't mind. But some of it's not really mine to tell."

"I'd like to hear the parts that are yours if you feel like telling them."

"All right." Chakotay sets his wine glass on the table and stretches his arm along the back of the sofa. "About two years ago a friend of mine became pregnant. At the time she wasn't able to work and had a limited income. Her partner — the baby's father — had been killed a few months before she found out about the pregnancy."

Kathryn makes a soft noise of sympathy.

"As you can imagine it was difficult for her," he goes on. "She's estranged from her mother and her father left them when she was a child, so she didn't have much in the way of support. I promised her I'd be there with her no matter what. When she decided to go ahead with the pregnancy, I suggested she move in with me. I've got plenty of space above my workshop and it meant that she wouldn't be on her own." He smiles fondly. "She said no at first, insisted she could do it on her own, but eventually she agreed."

"You wore her down?" Kathryn asks.

"Something like that. But even with her moving in, I knew that our combined income wouldn't be enough to support both of us and provide for a baby. B'Elanna — my friend — wanted to find something part-time but given everything she was dealing with I didn't think it was a good idea. So I contacted an old friend who I'd recently run into again. She'd moved back to the city not long before then and had started up a new business."

"Let me guess. Marquis Escorts."

Chakotay nods. "I explained my situation and she agreed to take me on."

"Just like that?" Kathryn waves her hand before he can respond. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it the way it came out. But you hadn't seen each other for a while, correct?"

"Not for twenty years or so, no." He grins. "Don't worry, Sveta does a thorough background check on all her employees."

"That's reassuring," she says dryly. "But didn't you have to, I don't know, audition or something?"

Chakotay's warm laugh rings out. "You have the most fascinating way of looking at things, Kathryn. But to answer your question: no. I didn't have to audition. Sveta and I were involved when we were young," he explains. "I guess you could say I was pre-approved for the position."

The joke is terrible but Kathryn finds herself laughing anyway, mostly because of the cheeky look on his face. Under the humour, though, she is deeply moved by the lengths he's gone to for friendship. "I'm sure your friend is very grateful to you. I don't know that there are many people who would take someone into their home _and_ take on a second job."

He reaches up and tugs at his earlobe. It's the first sign of discomfort she's ever seen in him. "I suppose. She yelled a lot when I told her and then stormed out. When she finally came back we talked. She's been on her own a long time and it's hard for her not to see it as a debt she owes me."

"Whereas for you, taking care of her is a way of showing you love her."

"Yes." Chakotay looks faintly surprised. "She's like my little sister. There's nothing I wouldn't do."

Kathryn nods in understanding, placing her hand on his. "I have a little sister, too."

"I remember." He slides his hand from under hers, lifting at the same time until they're palm to palm. It takes a second to find the best way for their fingers to entwine but when they do nothing has ever felt more right to Kathryn. She meets Chakotay's eyes, wondering if it feels the same to him.

"You are a very wise woman, Kathryn Janeway."

She laughs incredulously. "I don't think that's something I've ever been accused of before."

"And brave as well." His voice is quietly serious.

"I told you before you don't have to say things like that." It comes out a little more quavery than she'd like because his thumb is stroking hers and the simple touch is turning her to jelly.

"What if I want to?" he echoes, tugging her arm toward him gently. He breaks the clasp of their hands to press his lips against her wrist in a soft, open-mouthed kiss. Kathryn has to close her eyes against the heat in his.

Molly chooses that moment to wander over and attempt to worm her way onto Chakotay's lap again. This time she's slightly more successful and manages to get half of herself on. His chuckle is low and amused as he lets her nuzzle him and prod him into a comfortable position for her. "She seems to have found a use for me," he says, his fingers rubbing her head gently.

"Sometimes I think she forgets she's not a puppy anymore," Kathryn says, both grateful for the distraction and a little resentful. She's not used to being overwhelmed by her emotions. It confounds her and her instinct is to disengage. Yet there's something beguiling about what she feels with Chakotay, something that tells her she's safe. He's open where she's reticent, not only with words but with his manner, his touch. It's not something she's ever known she wanted until now, when he gives it to her so freely.

Watching him with Molly plucks a string somewhere inside her, an inaudible but powerfully resonating note. Again she feels that odd lump in her throat and looks away to try to find some equilibrium. Her eyes land on the clock. It's almost 8:30. "I didn't realise it had gotten so late. This is pre-bed walk time," she tells Chakotay.

Molly's head pops up at the word 'walk' and she scrambles into a sitting position, tail thumping against the sofa cushion.

"I see how it is," Chakotay says to her with a sigh. "No man can compete with a walk."

Molly looks between them, making a high-pitched whine in the back of her throat.

"Yes, all right." Kathryn shakes her head. "You'd think I never took her out at all. We've been on two runs today, madam." The mood is thoroughly broken and she can't say she's entirely sorry. She gets up and tries to remember where she put her shoes during her frantic tidying. Molly jumps off the sofa and begins her pre-walk warmup of running back and forth in the hallway. Through the sudden tumult Chakotay remains on the sofa.

With a slight sinking feeling, Kathryn looks down at him. "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask what time you have to go. I know this was short notice for you."

He's watching her with a slight smile. "Why does it feel like you're always trying to get me to leave?"

"I'm not," she tells him. For some reason it's very important he knows that. "But I know you have other things to do with your time and I don't want you to feel that you have to stay if you'd rather not."

"Kathryn, do you want me to go?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Then I'd like to stay."

  


	3. i am one hot summer (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to mention in the first part of this one-in-two chapter that the title is from Veda Hille's _One Hot Summer_. also, a couple of people have mentioned this so i figured i should explain: i do know the difference between **maquis** and **marquis**. however, no one is going to name their escort service after french resistance fighters or dense scrub vegetation characteristic of mediterranean coastal regions. the name Marquis Escorts is meant to allude to the maquis of canon while also being a lot sexier, having connotations, as it does, of wealth and whatnot. hope that clarifies things.

After Molly's walk, Chakotay cleans up in the bathroom while Kathryn makes coffee for herself and tea for him. It's almost as if they've already fallen into a routine and she has to remind herself that this isn't real. It's not a date; they're not a couple, or even really friends. The reminder stings but allows her to put the evening back into perspective before she gets carried away. By the time Chakotay walks into the kitchen, she's settled herself.

He takes the mug of tea she hands him and they wander back into the living room. Molly's drowsing half on and half off her bed and barely even glances at them as they sit down.

"We seem to have worn her out," Chakotay says.

"For now," Kathryn agrees, stifling a yawn.

"And you as well. Maybe I should go after all."

She lays a hand on his knee. "Please don't. I'd like you to stay."

"Okay. But if you start to snore, I'm definitely leaving."

"Deal."

They talk of ordinary things and Kathryn can't help studying his features: the uneven shape of his ears, the slightly crooked line of his nose. His finely formed lips and the tiny dent in his chin. She lets her eyes trace the rays of his tattoo and wonders at its meaning. When he lifts his mug to drink she examines his hands, the broad palms and elegant fingers, neatly square nails and surprisingly smooth callouses. From time to time their glances catch and she knows that he's aware of her looking, just as she's aware of his. Despite being entirely comfortable in Chakotay's company almost since the moment they met, she is never not aware of him physically. Her body seems to respond to his nearness like a plant to sunlight, stretching and yearning towards the source.

She finishes her coffee and reaches over to set down her mug. When she looks up she finds Chakotay's gaze has fallen to the gaping neckline of her cardigan. It feels completely natural to take his empty mug, set it on floor, and lean in to him. He slides his fingers through her hair as if they do this every night, this meeting of mouths and breath. Their kisses are languorous, their bodies sinking gradually until they're lying together on the sofa with mingled legs and hands and tongues. Kathryn reaches up under his shirt to stroke the long muscles of his back and he licks his way down to the vee of her cardigan, nuzzling the tops of her breasts.

"Come back here," she murmurs, and he does.

They kiss as if kisses are newly invented. Just for them. They kiss not only mouths but hands and cheeks and throats. Kathryn grows dizzy, feeling Chakotay as the single still point in the room. Her eyelids keep falling closed even though she doesn't want to stop looking at him. Never before has she been so languidly aroused. Her limbs feel pleasantly weighted and every movement is a delicious struggle. She arches her neck for the pleasure of the stretch and Chakotay scrapes his teeth gently near her ear. It makes her shudder and gasp. She licks at his mouth when he moves within reach, moaning as the slide of his tongue follows hers. "Bedroom?" she whispers, then gives his chin a delicate bite. He hums a yes into the next kiss and makes her forget to want anything else.

At last they untangle, flushed and heavy with desire. In the bedroom they undress each other slowly by the light of a single lamp, using kisses as landmarks, navigation. Every touch now is a prelude to another, each drawn out achingly until they bleed one into the next. Kathryn is so sensitised she feels it as a vibration under her skin. When they lie down, the shock of the cool sheets is a slight, erotic sting. 

She pushes Chakotay onto his back so she can explore him leisurely, running her hands along the insides of his thighs, rubbing her cheeks against the soft skin below his ribs. His penis is fully erect and twitches slightly where it lies against his belly. She trails her fingers delicately over the swollen head, feeling the shape and heft of it, and he makes a low noise in his throat. One of his hands brushes her shoulder and Kathryn takes it gently, kissing each of his fingers as she shifts to kneel beside him. She meets his eyes as she covers his hand with hers and pulls it down her body so that he skims her breast and her stomach before coming to rest in the shallow bowl where his hip meets his thigh. The skin there is lighter than his hands: a dusky gold that makes her seem pale as the moon. All the diffuse, amorphous arousal within her coalesces and she can hardly breathe.

"Kathryn?" he says softly.

She swallows hard and looks up at him.

"If there's something you want, just ask me. I'll tell you if I'm not comfortable with it."

She feels uncharacteristically hesitant, but what she wants seems to her unbearably private. Yet the idea is so explicit, so terribly arousing, that she can't get it out of her head. "Would you—" she clears her throat "—would you touch yourself?"

Chakotay considers her. "You want me to masturbate?" he asks, no trace of censure in his tone. Her gaze falls back to his groin and she nods. "While you watch?"

"Yes," she whispers.

His other hand trails lightly across his abdomen and down into the crease of his thigh. "Are you going to help?"

"I... I hadn't thought that far ahead." She hasn't been capable of much thought at all in the last few hours.

He drags the side of his thumb up the shaft of his cock and sighs. Kathryn clamps her thighs together against a pulse of pleasure. He runs his fingers lazily around the head, seemingly unaffected, but she's transfixed, her mouth completely dry, all the moisture in her body pooling between her legs.

"Is there anything in particular you want to see?" he asks.

"Just, just what you usually do."

"Can I touch you, too?"

Kathryn makes a choked sound. The thought has never crossed her mind. She glances up and meets his eyes. "Um," she says, breathless, "if you want to."

"I want to." Chakotay reaches for her, tangling his hands in her hair and urging her down. She resists, holding herself up on her hands and knees so that the only parts of their bodies touching are their mouths. Cool air from the window prickles her skin but beneath her Chakotay radiates heat like a star. When the kiss ends, he looks up at her and says, "Watch."

One of his hands leaves her hair and trails up the inside of her thigh. Kathryn widens her legs and he makes a gorgeous noise when he feels how wet she is. He coats his fingers until they're slick, then reaches down and spreads the moisture over his penis. A strangled breath catches in her throat.

She sits back as he begins to stroke himself with a loose fist. The intensity of his gaze on her is almost palpable but Kathryn can't look away from what he's doing. One of her hands is gripping her thigh, the nails digging into her skin in bright little spots of pain. Chakotay uncurls her fingers and pulls them to his mouth, sucking two of them strongly. She moans as her body throbs and his hand tightens on his cock.

The muscles of his thighs grow taut as he works himself. Kathryn glances up and he's watching her. Watching her watch him jerk off. A distant part of herself wonders what the hell she's doing but there's no room in her for doubts, no room for anything but the thick, suffocating lust licking at her veins. Chakotay's mouth goes slack as he arches his hips and her fingers slide out wetly. She looks at them, at the shine of his saliva, and before the idea is even fully formed her hand is moving down to cover his. 

He moans but doesn't stop.

Kathryn leans forward, watching the head of his cock as it's hidden and revealed by the motion of their hands. Her body is burning, almost numb from overload, feeling so much she can barely feel anything at all. The mattress shakes underneath them and her hair slides over her shoulders to fall across Chakotay's stomach and arm. She tries to pull it out of the way but he reaches with his other hand to stop her.

"Leave it," he grinds out. "Please."

She nods, watching a drop of fluid well up on the tip of his cock. Without thinking, she licks her lips. Chakotay gasps and she looks up, sees him watching her still. What she wants must be right there on her face for him to read.

"Yes," he says and closes his eyes. "Please, yes."

She straddles his legs and his strokes slow. Bracing herself on both hands, she rocks forward and lets her weight come down with his penis trapped between them. He grabs her ass and ruts up against her as her mouth falls hard on his. Then there's just his tongue and his cock and his big hands holding her in place. She pulls back and nips his chin, lifting herself up onto her hands and knees again as Chakotay groans. She licks her way down his body until she's kneeling between his legs, arms against his hips.

It's been a long time since Kathryn's done this and she's out of practice, but she's never in her life wanted to suck a man's cock the way she wants to suck Chakotay's. She glances up and meets his eyes as she bends her head and opens her mouth. The look on his face has her squeezing her thighs together. Her tongue darts out to take a tentative lick and tastes herself on him. He twitches. With the flat of her tongue she licks a long swipe from root to tip, sucking the head into her mouth when she gets there.

His loud, full-throated moan goes right through her.

He's already close to orgasm. Kathryn feels the jerky movements of his hips and knows he's trying not to just thrust into her mouth. He's gasping and moaning, body fever-hot and glistening, and she's never seen anyone so gorgeous in abandon. Her world narrows to his scent, his sweat, his rigid, silky flesh. The feel of him in her mouth satisfies some inchoate craving in her and she's almost disappointed at how quickly it's over. His whole body tenses and he cries out in a voice that's more than a growl, not quite a roar, and then she's swallowing down the salty taste of his semen.

For a few moments she presses her face into his sweaty hip, just breathing. His hand touches her hair lightly, pushing it back from her damp face. "Hey," Chakotay says hoarsely.

Kathryn raises her head and can't help smiling at the slightly dazed look on his face. "That was okay?"

"That was amazing. Come back here."

She rises on shaky knees to crawl over him in an ungraceful way, her hair trailing along his chest. Before she can fully process the motion, he grabs her hips with both hands and hauls her up his body so that she's straddling his head. "My turn," he says.

In the instant before he touches her she almost tells him to stop. She's so swollen and sensitive right now she's not even sure she can manage an orgasm, and so exhausted she doesn't really want to try. Then Chakotay pulls her down against his face and starts fucking her with his tongue and, oh, she's wrong, she's gloriously, magnificently wrong. Her thighs are quaking and she's holding on to the headboard, given over wholly to sensation. It crowds out everything else until there's no sight, no sound, nothing but her pounding heart and her throbbing cunt and his wicked, impossible mouth.

She comes so hard she bangs her head against the wall.

"I don't think I can move," she says in a weak version of her usual voice, collapsing in a limp heap next to Chakotay.

His hand finds hers and their fingers entwine. "Give me a minute," he says, "'til I remember how to breathe."

Kathryn snorts a laugh against his shoulder and closes her eyes. Sleep takes her so quickly she doesn't even notice.

 

*

  

The air through the window is cooler when she wakes and the sky is still completely dark. In sleep she's gravitated closer to Chakotay's larger body and its radiating warmth. His arm is draped across her waist and her knees are drawn up against his thighs. The bedside lamp casts him in honeyed light and she marvels at how handsome he is in repose. Still magnetic even with those eloquent eyes closed. The effect isn't marred the slightest by the sound of his faint snoring or the way his hair sticks up on one side. Somehow those things just make him even more appealing to her. 

Kathryn knows she should wake him. But a selfish, needy part of her is whispering _just a few more minutes. Just this once._ He's the first person who's slept in her bed for half a decade and yet she feels no sense of dislocation or surprise at finding him here. His presence doesn't feel intrusive; it feels natural. He fits as if the space has only been waiting for him to fill it.

In her bed. In her life.

Her chest aches with a reckless tenderness as she looks at him. She is teetering on the edge of something and knows it can only lead to regret. What they've created together, this imaginary world they're inhabiting, is as ephemeral as a soap bubble. It's not, never could be, real. The longer she allows herself the fantasy, the more difficult it will be to let go. Best to end it now, before even the memories are soured.

Oh, but it's hard.

Kathryn eases out of bed to use the bathroom. All the lights in her apartment are still on and she squints, switching them off as she passes. She drinks a glass of water in the kitchen, listening to the muffled sounds of Molly dreaming in the other room. The misty rain that had been falling during their walk has stopped and the sky is clear. Against the weak sliver of new moon the stars seem especially bright. She hums quietly to herself as she refills the glass with water and the cold chills her fingers.

When she returns to the bedroom, she finds Chakotay has shifted in her absence. His arm now stretches across the space next to him where she'd been. Something flutters in her chest at the sight but she reminds herself firmly that the body's movement during sleep is both unconscious and involuntary. With a deep breath, she sets the glass down on the bedside table and reaches out to touch Chakotay's shoulder. He twitches but doesn't wake. She says his name once, then again more loudly, shaking him slightly. Still nothing. Exasperated, Kathryn wonders if he always sleeps this deeply in strange beds. Finally she lies down again and walks her cold toes up his shins. 

He opens his eyes and blinks several times.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi." He clears his throat. "Your feet are cold."

"They are. And you're not an easy man to wake up."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay. Neither did I." She sits up to offer him the glass of water and he raises himself on one elbow to take it. With his head tilted back and the strong column of his throat exposed, he reminds her of a Baroque chiaroscuro. _Man Quenching Thirst_ would be its title. She'd like to be the one to paint it.

Chakotay finishes and passes her the empty glass. "Thanks. Do you know what time it is?"

"Almost three. Will your friend be worried?"

He lies back and scrubs his hands over his face. "She shouldn't be. Even when I'm not working, I sometimes go out wandering in the middle of the night."

"Does that happen often?" Kathryn asks, and when he looks at her she sees the kind of weariness in him that no amount of sleep can cure.

"Often enough."

"I'm sorry," she says with genuine sympathy. "I have some idea what that's like."

Chakotay takes her hand. "Yes, I imagine you do."

It should be frightening how instinctively, how eagerly she moves into his arms. Lying against him, she presses her nose into the notch at his throat and closes her eyes. His hands sweep from her shoulders to her thighs and back again in long, slow strokes. For a time there is only this.

Finally, his quiet voice. "I should go."

And hers, just as quiet. "I know."

He kisses her hair and then her brow when she leans her head back to look at him. She reaches up to touch his cheek and he dips his head to meet her hand and then, without quite meaning to, they're kissing. It's slow and gentle and soft. Slow as his thumb tracing the sensitive rim of her ear, gentle as the path of her fingers on his chest, soft as his voice when he whispers, "Do you want..."

and she sighs, "Yes."

They know each other's bodies now; they are well versed and sure. Kathryn feels him harden against her belly and an answering pang inside herself like a call and response of the flesh. She reaches down to stroke him gently, gently, and he sighs into her mouth. This is nothing like the playfulness of the first time, nor the rawness of the second. There's something dangerous between them now, something more than mere desire. Chakotay's hands on her body are almost loving, almost reverent. She kisses him above his heart and lingers there, wanting fiercely something she refuses to name.

 _This isn't real_ , she tells herself over and over. But he's here now, his body so warm and alive against hers, so willing to give and receive. If this is all she can have she'll take it gladly.

Kathryn pulls away to fumble in the drawer for a condom. This time she puts it on him herself and delights in the clench of his jaw. She lies down again, facing him, and allows her leg to ride up over his hip as they kiss and kiss. "Like this," she says, breathless, then " _oh_ —" as his thick cock nudges her entrance.

"Like this," Chakotay echoes, voice rough. "Just like this."

Then he's fully inside her and her body's grasping, trying to hold him there. She undulates against him while he strokes in and out. It's slow, slow, like a boat on a gentle swell, like waves lapping at the shore. Their gazes never waver and Kathryn sees his pleasure in the crease of his brow, his half-closed eyes. She pushes her hand between them and down, the backs of her knuckles against his belly. He sucks in his breath as she curls her fingers around the base of his shaft and lets her thumb slide easily against her clit. She might have bruises tomorrow from the force of his grip on her backside but tonight it feels so, so good.

They rock and rock and orgasm steals over her like the sun from behind a drifting cloud. Warmth becomes heat so bright she has to close her eyes. It flows through her richly in all the colours of a sunrise, honey-slow and sweet.

When she opens her eyes, Chakotay pulls her hand from the seal of their bodies and licks at her fingers and thumb. Hot little aftershocks flicker under her skin. "Lie back," she tells him, using a smile and the cant of her hips as persuasion.

He rolls and takes her with him, slipping further inside her with a low sound of pleasure. Kathryn lifts herself onto her hands and knees and begins a deliberate, unhurried rhythm.

Chakotay moans and grips the sheet. 

She walks her hands up the bed until she's stretched out over his chest like a blanket. The change in angle makes her movements sharper, forcing her to curve her lower back and use the momentum of release to push her down on his cock. His hands move to clutch at her, pulling her hard against him. Their motions slow and deepen until they're hardly moving at all. Kathryn raises herself on her hands again and looks down into eyes black as a starless sky.

Somehow she'd stopped noticing that his hair is still sticking up on one side. Seeing it again, she can't help but smile, and she lifts a hand to flatten it and watch it spring back. Chakotay groans and covers his face.

"I look like a hedgehog, don't I?" he asks.

Kathryn considers him for a second. "Only on one side."

Another groan.

"Would you feel better if I told you I like it?"

He lets his hands fall from his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You're not just saying that to get into my pants?"

"Absolutely not," she says. "I don't even know where your pants are."

"That does make me feel better."

She grins and leans down to kiss him. Their lower bodies are still locked together and the erection that had begun to subside during the conversation now swells again to an unrelenting pressure inside her. Kathryn begins working her hips back against Chakotay's at a leisurely pace. His hands rise to touch her hair, her face, lingering at the hinge of her jaw and stroking. She holds him deep, flexing her strong internal muscles along his cock as she moves. He pulses against her, breaking away from her mouth to push his head back hard against the pillow.

"Kathryn...please..."

"Shh," she soothes. "Just relax. Let me."

Taking his left hand from her cheek, she laces their fingers together and presses them down by his head. She does the same with his right and then shifts her weight so that she's balanced on their joined hands and he's pinned beneath her. They both know he can free himself easily but he lets her take control, looking up at her not with surrender but trust. Chakotay trusts her and the knowledge both humbles and excites her.

Now she is all slow, sinuous motion. His cock is buried within her; his eyes are fixed on hers. Kathryn bears down and he grips her hands, knuckles whitening. His chest heaves with the effort of breathing, but their every other movement is restrained, barely visible. Everything that matters is happening in the places they're connected.

Kathryn sees it, the moment the hot surge of orgasm takes him. His breath stops and his eyes lose focus and then he is shaking and coming and she feels it, all of it, she feels it with him. 

Gradually, his hands relax in hers and the tension leaves his body. His eyes close and his breathing eases. He makes a slight noise when she releases him, a soft sough of what might be disappointment. The muscles in her arms and thighs tremble a little as she climbs off Chakotay to lie alongside him. She closes her eyes and has a moment of amusement at how ungainly so much of sex can be.

The mattress dips and Kathryn feels him sweep the hair from her sticky neck and place a lingering kiss to her cheek. She opens her eyes to see his lovely, though tired, smile. It's impossible not to return it.

"I really do have to go now," he says.

"Of course. I'm sorry for making you stay so long."

Chakotay shakes his head. "You didn't make me. I wanted to stay."

A slight stumble of her heart that she resolutely ignores. Instead she nods and watches him get up and gather his clothes. While he's in the bathroom she puts on her robe and wanders out of the bedroom, adrift. The light in the kitchen appears to her like a lighthouse's beacon in the dark ocean of her apartment. Kathryn rolls her eyes and chastises herself for being melodramatic and maudlin. _Besides_ , she thinks, _lighthouses are there to warn ships away, not beckon them in._

She hears the bathroom door open and turns. Chakotay's hair is damp where he's made an effort to tame it.

"No more hedgehog," she says, smiling.

He huffs a soft laugh. "At least not until I go to sleep again."

The sound of their voices rouses Molly and she wobbles over, still unsteady with sleep but wiggling enthusiastically. Chakotay crouches down and she pushes her head against his chest as he rubs her head and flanks. "Who's a good girl?" he murmurs and she wags her tail as if to say, "Me."

Kathryn has to bite her lip and call herself ridiculous for how affected she is watching the two of them together. Molly's always been a friendly dog in general, but she's never taken to someone so immediately as she has to Chakotay. Perhaps he just has a way with women of all species, Kathryn thinks ruefully.

With a last stroke of Molly's ears, he stands up looking oddly embarrassed.

"What is it?"

"I feel a little silly at how happy I am that she likes me, that's all."

Kathryn's throat closes for a moment before she can say, "I told you. She's an excellent judge of character."

He smiles, this time fully, and she's treated to a last view of his dimples. Then he glances towards the hall. "Well."

"Yes," she responds, and walks with him to the door. 

To all appearances it's the same scene they've played out once before. But for Kathryn it's all entirely new. She opens the door and he moves past her to stand on the threshold, that liminal space between the world in which they're together and the world in which they're not.

She looks up into his kind, warm eyes. "Thank you, Chakotay. For everything."

"Thank you, Kathryn," he says with quiet gravity.

It feels symbolic to her somehow, naming each other, as if in a ritual. A solemn rite of farewell. This time he doesn't kiss her cheek, but her mouth, still swollen from all the kisses that have come before. His lips are gentle and tender. Tears prick her eyes. When he pulls away she leaves them closed for just a little longer so they won't betray her. Then she smiles and meets his gaze with a clear, calm one of her own. "Drive safely," is all she says.

Chakotay nods and the corner of his mouth quirks impishly. "Yes, ma'am."

She pokes him in the chest, grateful for the light-hearted reprieve. "Don't call me ma'am."

With a quick squeeze of her hand, he steps back into the hallway. "Good night," he says. Just as before.

"Good night."

Kathryn closes the door and leans her head against it, forcing herself to breathe deeply and steadily. It's only the hour and exhaustion that's making her so emotional, she tells herself. What she needs is a decent, uninterrupted sleep. Molly has already curled herself back into a ball on her bed, so Kathryn switches off the rest of the lights and heads down the hall to her own. As she enters the bedroom, her earlier thought of lighthouses comes back to her unbidden. Not a haven but a warning.

The surface of her pillow bears an impression where his head had lain. Her sheets still smell of him and sex, darkened in patches by sweat. She lies down and the space next to her holds the faintest trace of his warmth.

Kathryn stretches to switch off the light, then turns on her side to sleep. In the dark, with her eyes closed, she can almost pretend he's still there.

  


	4. the stars are more stars than they usually are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title of this chapter, from _Strange, Sad_ , completes the Veda Hille triptych.

The weekend passes in a muted listlessness. Monday and Tuesday likewise. On Wednesday afternoon Tom walks into her office and regards her seriously from the other side of the desk.

"Something you need?" Kathryn asks.

"Actually, I was wondering the same thing about you."

"Oh?"

"You haven't really seemed like yourself this week and I just thought, well, if you wanted someone to talk to, I'm a pretty good listener."

She shakes her head and smiles, touched by his earnestness. "Thank you, Tom. I appreciate the offer, but everything's fine." At his sceptical look, she says, "Truly. Just feeling a bit run down, that's all."

"Maybe you should take a couple of days off," he suggests. "Get some rest. I can hold the fort."

His sincere concern makes Kathryn feel a little guilty for brushing him off, but her personal life is not something she wants to discuss with a subordinate. Even one she likes as much as Tom. "I know you can, but it's really not necessary." When he looks like he might protest, she holds up one hand and adds, "Maybe in a few weeks, when the grant process is done. You know I wouldn't be able to relax with that hanging over my head anyway."

"Okay. But I'm holding you to that. I'll put the paperwork in myself, if I have to. I've gotten pretty good at forging your signature," he says with a grin.

Kathryn laughs. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because my superlative skill set is why you hired me?"

"Yes, that must be it." 

He's on his way out the door when she stops him. "Tom." He turns back to look at her. "Thank you," she says again.

"Any time, Boss."

 

*

 

These are some facts that she knows:

1\. Gravity is the reason the universe is more than just equally spaced particles.  
2\. Bodies with mass are drawn to each other no matter how far apart.  
3\. There are objects so dense even light cannot escape them.  
4\. Chakotay made her a necklace.

 

At brunch with Phoebe on Saturday it spills from beneath the neck of Kathryn's shirt, an accidental revelation. Phoebe examines it with a professional eye: turning it over and over in her palm, holding it up to the light. "This is really beautiful," she says, eventually. "The carving, the finishing. It's not something he made in an hour, Katie. That's intricate, detailed work."

"You're giving it more consequence than it has, Fee."

"No, I don't think I am."

What can she say? That she suspected as much but deliberately chose to give the gesture a simpler gloss? Kathryn can hardly claim the gift lacks any meaning to her, not now when the very fact of her silence confirms its significance.

"Are you in love with him?" asks Phoebe, blunt as ever.

Kathryn startles and looks aghast at her sister. "What? No. That's absurd. People don't fall in love after spending two nights together."

"Some people do."

" _I_ don't."

Phoebe just shrugs. "It's not like there's a formula you can apply to it, or a set of scientific parameters that have to be met before feelings can happen. They just do. Whether you want them to or not."

Something small and hard has lodged in the centre of Kathryn's chest. "It's nothing more than an infatuation," she says firmly, concentrating on the last of the fruit on her plate. "And as I won't be seeing him again, it's entirely irrelevant." She stabs at a slice of melon, expecting the silver tines of her fork to pierce the soft flesh. Instead they scrape out an ugly music, skidding through a trail of juice as the melon slips away.

 

*

 

Her credit card statement this month is marked by absence. Where she expected to see a specific transaction there's an anomalous blankness. Kathryn stares at the glaring white space, trying to will it to reveal what's missing. When that fails to work she grabs her phone and sends her sister a message.

 _How long did it take for you to get the charge from Marquis Escorts?_

A few minutes later she gets a reply. _A couple of days maybe. Why?_

_I haven't been charged for last week's appointment yet._

_Maybe the second one's free?_

Kathryn rolls her eyes at the phone. _Very helpful. Thank you._

_;)_

Disquiet pricks at her. The unexpected in her work is invigorating: challenges or mysteries to be solved; the unexpected in her personal life is neither. Kathryn has always preferred to act rather than be acted upon, has never waited to be provided with what she could find a way to obtain herself.

She calls Marquis Escorts for an explanation.

"There's a flag on your account that Chakotay notified us of the cancellation, so there was no charge," says the helpful employee whose name she's forgotten already.

"The cancellation," Kathryn repeats woodenly. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Well, the fee only applies in cases where the client cancels within 24 hours of the appointment. But of course there's no charge to the client if the escort has to cancel."

Kathryn feels as if she's not entirely tethered to reality. Perhaps she's actually dreaming. "I see," she says calmly, even as the evidence refuses to conform to any rational explanation. At a complete loss, she falls back on politeness. "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry no one explained it to you earlier. Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"No, no thank you."

She ends the call and stares at her phone as though it might hold some kind of explanation for this incomprehensible situation. Instead of solving the riddle, the call has only made it even more opaque. Questions crowd in on her like moths bumping up against an artificial light. They flutter, disoriented, exhausting their soft bodies with futile effort. There are no answers here.

Finally, Kathryn does the only thing she can think to do: she taps into her contacts and deletes Marquis Escorts. 

 

*

 

She's working late at the office with Molly for company. The dog is sprawled on the floor, seemingly hypnotised by the rotation of the orrery. She flashes Kathryn a reproachful look when the phone rings, as if disgruntled at the disturbance of her canine meditation. "It's your Aunt Phoebe," Kathryn tells her, but Molly seems unenthused.

"Hey, where are you?" Phoebe asks in lieu of a greeting. "I tried you at home but I got the machine."

"Still at work."

"Seriously, why do you bother to pay rent? Just move a bed into your office and then you won't even have to commute."

It's something Kathryn has wondered herself on occasion. "Tempting but where would I shower?"

"Hmm. Good point."

"So did you just call to judge my life choices or was there some other reason?"

"I have an actual reason," Phoebe says. "The judging was just a bonus."

"Lucky me."

"Anyway, I did some research into your necklace, or, well, the wood. Turns out that Brazilian rosewood is a very expensive, very rare material these days. Like, rare as in it's illegal to trade."

Across the room, as Kathryn watches, tiny planets roam orbits around a tiny sun. There's a hint of something in her sister's voice that halts her pen in its mindless doodling. "Chakotay said the wood was reclaimed." 

"Oh, that's good." Phoebe sounds relieved. "Even so, it's still expensive because there's so little of it around and the demand is high."

"Why are you telling me this, Fee?"

"Well, I thought it was interesting. And you know I love wood, even if I hate working with it. But really, I've been..." She trails off and the muscles across Kathryn's shoulders tighten. "Look, it just seemed like something you should know. You're always saying you have to consider all the available data before reaching a conclusion, right? So this is some data."

"And what is it these data are supposed to tell me?" Kathryn has to force the words out, as if her larynx has seized. She holds herself very still, bracing for whatever blow might fall from her sister's mouth.

But Phoebe's response is unexpectedly gentle. "Maybe that your necklace was meant to say more than just 'thanks for being a great customer'."

The small, hard thing in Kathryn's chest loosens and unknots. Every feeling she'd thought safely constrained now streams in her veins and fills up her lungs. She's tried so resolutely to move beyond this havoc of emotion, to hurl herself fast enough through the days to break free of the force that's caught her. But gravity's range is infinite. It can't be shielded against or absorbed or transformed. All bodies with mass are vulnerable, no matter how small.

At the other end of the signal bounced from satellites and towers, Phoebe's unusually quiet voice says, "Katie?"

"I'm here," Kathryn says at last. "I need to tell you something else."

 

*

 

For days after her conversation with Phoebe, Kathryn feels mired in doubt. It's an uncharted landscape for her: she who's always prided herself on her decisiveness. What she wants to do and what she thinks she ought to do are very much at war within her. 

She's sure that more than a few of Chakotay's clients imagine they have some kind of relationship with him, or that his feelings for them extend beyond the confines of the service he provides. He's handsome, he's kind, and he's good at his job. None of that is an invitation for harassment. What if she's seriously mischaracterised his actions? Despite her sister's conviction, it _is_ possible that Chakotay's motivations stem purely from a sense of amity or compassion. If Kathryn approaches him and he rebuffs her overtures with pity — or, worse, accepts out of obligation — she couldn't bear it.

Despite that, a part of her simply cannot be swayed into believing that those two nights of conversation and companionship and laughter (and, yes, incredible sex) could have meant nothing at all. She needs to know if it's merely the product of her unwontedly fervid imagination, or if he feels something, anything, of what it seems he might.

As the days pass and her warring parts reach stalemate, the bare truth emerges: whatever the outcome, she wants to see him again. Very much. It's a wanting that comes perilously close to longing. Perhaps, Kathryn begins to think, they could be friends if nothing else. Her attraction to him might prove difficult to overcome at first but it's surely not insurmountable. She knows the kind of friend he is, the kind of man he is. In the absence of any other possibility, she could be content with that.

The more she considers it the quieter her doubts become until, on a Saturday morning, she wakes with only the silence of resolution in her head.

 

*

 

She wears the red dress. The one that's fitted through the waist then flares out slightly to mid-calf. The one with the v-neck collar and buttons all the way down. He'd seemed to like her in v-neck and buttons. Her hair is loose, no clips or pins, only tucked behind her ears so she can see while she drives with the windows down and Molly in the backseat tasting the air. 

Dorvan Designs is open from 10am to 2pm on Saturdays. At a little before 11, Kathryn lets Molly out of the car at a small park to wear off her first burst of energy on the grass. On the half mile walk from the park to the store, Kathryn slows her normal pace to something of a meander and allows Molly freer rein on the lead. The area is succumbing to a slow gentrification from its manufacturing roots. New cafes and apartment blocks nestle brazenly between boarded up warehouses dressed in masterpieces of graffiti, broken glass, and bird droppings. Molly doesn't seem to know where to sniff first.

By 11:30 they're across the street from Dorvan Designs. Kathryn wraps Molly's lead around a No Parking sign under the leaves of an enormous ginkgo tree throwing stippled shade below. Molly flops herself at its base and gulps from her collapsible water bowl. "Wish me luck," Kathryn tells her, then picks up her bag and crosses the street.

Like many of its neighbours, Chakotay's building is a renovated warehouse. The original brick exterior has been largely preserved, though dismantled in places to fit windows and doors. Through the large glass front Kathryn can see the entirety of the store within. It's empty of people and she allows herself some time to simply look. As if she's just window shopping and has no particular purpose for being here. As if nothing important hinges on what happens when she walks inside. As if she's entirely unencumbered.

The space is a reflection of its creator. It's large and open yet somehow manages to appear warm and inviting. The wooden floor is worn and scarred but wears a sheen that speaks of careful restoration. Glass shelves line two of the walls and hold work of various sizes. Bowls with scalloped edges, oval platters with downward curling tips, sinuous sculptures that seem to crest like waves. Soft spot lighting harmonises their rich colours and smooth curves. The main body of the room is scattered with furniture and larger pieces grouped together in clusters that appear, to Kathryn's eyes, to each tell their own story. 

She takes a measured breath to steady herself and opens the door. A low chime sounds as she steps inside and a few seconds later she hears Chakotay call from somewhere, "I'll be right with you." In that moment the enormity of the hideous, presumptuous mistake she's made engulfs her. What possessed her to think she should impose herself on him like this? She's turning back to the door when she hears his startled voice say, "Kathryn?"

"Chakotay," she says, facing him as if she hadn't been about to flee. "Hi."

He's wearing jeans with the kind of holes that are made, not bought, and a t-shirt that might once have been orange but has faded through many washings to a colour that's more like cantaloupe. Something that's probably sawdust is sprinkled across the toes of his boots. He's real and vital and she wants nothing more than to put her arms around him and hold on with all her strength.

They stare at each other in silence until finally Chakotay says, "How are you?"

"Fine. Good. Thank you." _Oh, god_ , Kathryn thinks, _this is awful_. "And you?"

"I'm good. Too. Thanks."

She clears her throat and adjusts the strap of her bag. Going forward now is inevitable. "I apologise for just showing up like this. I should've called, or—"

"No," he stops her. "No, it's fine." He crosses the rest of the way to her, close enough to touch. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too." Despite the stilted awkwardness, Kathryn feels the most alive she has in weeks.

"So what brings you down this way?" he asks.

"Actually, I came to see you. I was hoping we could talk. If you're not too busy."

"No," he says, then shakes his head. "I mean, I'm not busy. Saturdays are usually pretty quiet. Just let me get cleaned up." He gestures to the doorway behind him. "Would you like to come back?"

"I'd love to."

He smiles then, making her heart stumble and race to catch up to itself. She follows him through an open door marked 'Private' and into his workspace. It's a smaller area than the store and far more crowded. High windows allow strong natural light into every corner and the air is heavily scented. The oils of different woods compete with sharper, more astringent smells that Kathryn imagines belong to sealants and fixatives. She takes everything in greedily, her first instinct as always to explore and discover. Her eye is caught by a tall, elegantly spiralling form on the bench in the centre of the room. On closer inspection, she finds it's hollow and its walls have been perforated to create a delicate, asymmetric lattice.

"That's going to be a lamp," Chakotay says.

Kathryn can clearly imagine the play of light and shadow it will cast. "It's beautiful."

He smiles again and crosses to a sink against the wall to scrub at his hands and arms. A trill of lust shoots through her, remembering, and she closes her eyes briefly in embarrassment. _Now is not the time_ , she tells herself sternly.

"I don't have much in the way of chairs," he says as he dries himself on a towel, "but I can offer you a stool." He flicks the towel over the seat before motioning for her to sit.

"Something you made yourself?" she asks.

"Actually I bought it at Ikea," he admits and she can't help laughing at the slightly shamefaced way he says it. He leans back against the sink, chuckling with her. "Can I offer you something to drink? I've only got water down here but there's juice and soda upstairs. No coffee, I'm sorry to say."

Upstairs, she knows, is his apartment. Just the thought of it makes her muscles loosen and her throat go dry. "Please don't go to any trouble."

"It's no trouble, Kathryn," he says, and the timbre of his voice plucks a chord within her. A single bass note vibrating to stillness. 

"Water would be good, thanks."

He passes her a bottle from a small fridge under the sink and she's grateful to have something to do with her hands, an excuse to look away. She'd forgotten the intensity of his presence, the way it makes her feel. Trailing her fingers through the condensation on the bottle, she searches for something safe to say. "This place is beautiful. Did you do the renovation yourself?"

Chakotay nods. "Most of the interior. I hired contractors for the exterior work and the plumbing and wiring. But the rest I did myself with the help of some friends."

"You've done a wonderful job."

"Thank you." His smile is broad and pleased. "I'm guessing that's not what you came here to talk about, though."

"No," Kathryn admits. Nerves flare and skitter in her belly. "I came to ask you something."

"All right."

"Why did you tell Marquis Escorts you cancelled your appointment with me?"

"Ah." Chakotay's hand rises to tug at his ear and his shoulders slump slightly. "I was hoping you wouldn't find out about that."

"You thought I wouldn't notice a fairly substantial transaction was missing from my credit card statement?"

"Hoped," he corrects with a sigh and then shakes his head. "Kathryn, I'm truly sorry."

His apology throws her. "What is it you're sorry for?"

"For making you uncomfortable. That's why you're here, isn't it? Please believe that that's the last thing I wanted."

"Chakotay, that's not why I'm here," she tells him. "You haven't made me uncomfortable, at least not in the way I think you mean."

He looks as perplexed as she feels. "Then why..."

"Perhaps you could answer my original question and we can go from there?"

"Your question," he repeats. "Of course." For the first time his eyes shift away from her. He pushes off from the sink and rubs his palms against his jeans. One finger catches on the worn edge of a hole. He shoves his hands in his pockets and then pulls them out again all in the space of a few seconds. "I wanted to see you," he says at last.

"You did see me," Kathryn says, confused.

With the ghost of a laugh, he runs a hand through his hair. "Yes, I know. I meant that I—" He stops abruptly as if something's just occurred to him. "What did they tell you at Marquis?"

"Just that there was a flag on my account to say you'd cancelled and I wouldn't be charged."

Chakotay meets her eyes, looking relieved. "Okay. That's good. At least this way I can explain things to you myself. Or try to." He pauses again, clears his throat. "It's strictly prohibited for Marquis employees to interact with clients outside of a professional capacity."

Disappointment sours Kathryn's mouth. "I see."

"It's one of Sveta's cardinal rules, that she's running an escort business not a dating service." He laughs ruefully and shifts his gaze away from her again. "I've always thought it made a lot of sense, really. Sometimes it happens that feelings develop in one party that aren't reciprocated by the other party. It's nobody's fault, but it's safer for everyone to maintain a certain distance."

Sitting there on his stool, in his place of business, Kathryn is sick with humiliation. He's being gentle with her, but it's exactly as she feared: the only feelings in this room are hers. To him she's just a common hazard of the job. For the first time in her life she understands what it means to want the earth to open up and swallow her.

But Chakotay's still talking. "That Friday, when you called, I was booked with another client."

"Yes," she manages to say, determined not to let him see how badly she's affected. "That's what I was told. And then you had a cancellation..." She trails off at the look he gives her.

"My client didn't cancel. I cancelled."

It's so quiet she can hear herself swallow. "I don't understand."

"That first night we spent together— Kathryn, I've never connected with anyone like that before. I had no idea if you'd ever call again but I asked Sam to let me know if you did. She's a friend," he explains. His hands have found their way back into his pockets and he's rocking slightly on his heels. "When she called me that Friday and told me... I asked her to lie for me. I asked her to tell my client I had a family emergency so that I could take your booking." Self-disgust thickens his voice. "It was incredibly selfish and wrong."

Kathryn struggles to check her cautiously rising hopes. "Why did you do it?"

"I wanted to see you," Chakotay says again. He huffs a breath and splays a hand across the back of his neck. "It's never happened to me before, but you— I told myself that I could handle it." To her surprise, he crouches down directly in front of her, eyes raised like a supplicant. "It was a mistake and I would've only compounded the wrong I'd done by expecting you to pay for it. That's why I asked Sam to put the flag on your account."

"Mistake?" she echoes. Her thoughts are a sluggish soup. She feels adrift: in the room, in herself, as if her very atoms are losing cohesion. The tips of her fingers tingle. Chakotay—his dark, solemn gaze—is her only anchor.

"I know I've handled this badly. I hope you can forgive me." 

"Chakotay, I promise I don't mean to be obtuse, but I still don't understand what it is you think requires forgiveness."

He lowers his head briefly and then raises it to look at her with an expression she can't interpret. The pulse in the hollow of his throat beats fast and strong. "I didn't maintain a professional distance with you. I didn't want to. That second night, I wasn't there to work. I was there because I wanted to be." The words are quiet but emphatic. "I wanted to be with you and instead of stepping back, I let myself pretend... well." He falters and turns his face away.

The bottle of water makes a flat sound as it rolls unnoticed from Kathryn's lap. Her thudding heart and her rushing blood are the roar of a distant waterfall in her ears. "Pretend what?" she asks. When he doesn't answer she says it again, more urgently. "Pretend what, Chakotay?"

"That you felt the same way." His voice is dull, defeated.

"What way?" The touch of her hand against his hair makes him start and turn in surprise. "Please tell me."

His expression is both wary and hopeful. "That night—that morning—when I woke up and you were there... I wanted to stay. I wanted it to be real."

Kathryn's smile is so wide and unrestrained it almost hurts. Joy courses through her unalloyed, bubbling up and out of her throat as laughter. She takes Chakotay's hands from where they dangle between his knees and laces her fingers with his. "I wanted you to stay," she tells him with her newly bold mouth. "I want it to be real."

"You want... present tense?" he asks. The form of a verb has never seemed quite so momentous. She nods eagerly, squeezing his hands, and in an instant his smile is incandescent, dazzling as an aurora. "You and me?"

"You and me," she says in affirmation, leaning forward and surrendering herself gladly to gravitation. It's not easy to kiss him when neither of them can stop smiling. Their teeth clink together and they're laughing: with relief, with happiness, with the absurdity of themselves and the torrent of undammed emotion between them.

Kathryn tilts too far on the stool and it slides from under her with a flourish of spin. She lands on Chakotay in an untidy heap on the floor. "We're really bad at this," she mutters against his shoulder once she's caught her breath.

"I don't know," he disagrees, stretching his legs to lie flat on his back. "I think it's going pretty well."

She lifts her head to look down at him. "We're on the floor, Chakotay."

"That's true. But at least I cleaned it this morning."

"So this is what I have to look forward to now? Lying around on floors with you?"

A grin flirts with the corners of his mouth. "I admit to preferring beds, myself."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kathryn says, struggling not to laugh at his guileless expression. Rolling to her feet, she holds her hand out to Chakotay to help him up as well. The face of her watch flashes and the rest of the world clamours back into her awareness. For a little while she'd forgotten the universe consisted of more than the two of them and this room. "I should check on Molly," she says, slightly flustered. "She's outside."

"She is?" Chakotay's eyes light up. "Do you want to bring her inside? I've got some old drop cloths she could lie on."

His enthusiasm is so sweetly genuine that Kathryn has to battle the irrational urge to just throw him down and ravish him right there on the floor. "Should I be worried that you like my dog more than me?"

"Oh, no. You're definitely my favourite." Then, to her astonishment, he says, " _I like you better than everything in the sky_."

"Is that— Did you just quote E.E. Cummings?"

His expression turns bashful. "Too much?"

"No. No, it... it's lovely." A slow, pulsing ache blossoms in her throat. She presses her fingers there and tries to swallow it down. Kathryn knows the rest of the poem, knows what's left unsaid. Her heart beats like it wants to fly right through her ribs.

" _Sunlight and singing welcome your coming_ ," he goes on, his low voice like music. "Though the truth is I'm a terrible singer." His face is calm, peaceful, and when he looks at her it's with the eyes of a man who's found the solution to an equation he's spent his whole life solving.

Tears spill onto Kathryn's cheeks, first a trickle, then a stream. Chakotay gathers her in, his hands warm across her back, and all she can do is press herself against him and grip him fiercely with arms that tremble. "I'm sorry," she says.

"For my lack of talent? I promise, it's only scarred me a little. I can still lead a full and meaningful life despite my shattered dreams."

She laughs in a soggy way, wondering how she will ever manage to deserve this man. "I don't know why I'm crying."

"Everybody needs to sometimes. Even the bravest hearts." One of his hands begins stroking her hair, sifting and smoothing the strands. Long minutes pass while Kathryn stands with her cheek to his chest and listens to the sounds of life inside him. Her tears slow and then cease, and the constriction in her throat eases. At last, in a voice so quiet it's barely louder than his steady heart, Chakotay says, "Thank you."

"For what?" she asks.

"Being brave."

She lifts her head to look at him, this man who has already offered himself to her in so many ways, with no thought of return. "Thank you for giving me a reason to be."

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to [wood database](http://www.wood-database.com/) and [pieces of wood](http://www.piecesofwood.com/woods.html) for useful information. while the general theory of relativity describes gravity as a consequence of the curvature of spacetime rather than a force, newton's law of universal gravitation remains relevant to physics and is also much easier to build a metaphor around. einstein wrote that "Falling in love is not at all the most stupid thing that people do — but gravitation cannot be held responsible for it." (Albert Einstein: The Human Side, 1979); but since gravity is the reason for everything, i say he's wrong. i prefer R Buckminster Fuller's take on it, from Critical Path: "Love is metaphysical gravity." look, just be glad i didn't end up referencing _4:48 Psychosis_ by Sarah Kane like i was gonna. the E.E. Cummings lines come from 'i love you much(most beautiful darling)'. oh, and 'undam' isn't a word but, since i think it should be, i use it as i like. if you can dam something, you should be able to undam it. damn it.
> 
> belated thanks to anyone who's commented that i haven't responded to individually. i asked santa for mental health for christmas but he didn't bring it. story of my life.


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